


Antebellum

by karaoswald



Category: Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-05 01:16:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 85,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karaoswald/pseuds/karaoswald
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Circle era. Jocelyn Fairchild, the most promising female student at the Shadowhunter Academy, has always known exactly how her life would go. She will train to become a Shadowhunter with her best friend Lucian and uphold the Fairchild family name. But when the mysterious Valentine Morgenstern begins recruiting for a new secret society, her life is thrown into upheaval. (THE MORTAL INSTRUMENTS prequel - not AU.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nocturne

**Part I**

 

_Out of the night that covers me,_

_Black as the pit from pole to pole,_

_I thank whatever gods may be_

_For my unconquerable soul._

_-_ William Ernest Henley, _Invictus_

* * *

 

**Chapter One**

The Fairchild manor house sat amongst a thicket of trees, large and imposing with wide windows staring out onto the expanse of grass. It wasn’t the largest country house in Idris, but it was grand all the same, carefully decorated and clearly constructured to stand the test of time, housing generations of Fairchilds. Far below the house, a small brook wound its way through the countryside, dotted with mossy rocks. This brook eventually emptied into a river which ran all the way to Alicante, the capital city of Idris.

On one unusually hot summer day, two figures could be seen splashing through the cool water. One was a young girl, small for her age with dark red hair falling in tangles down her back. She held her long curls back with one hand, reaching out with the other to run it through the water.

“Lucian,” she whined, giving the name about four extra syllables. “I can’t catch any!”

“That’s ‘cause you’re not fast enough,” the second figure replied with a surprisingly gentle tone. He appeared to be roughly the same age as the girl and only an inch or so taller. “Here, watch this.”

The boy, Lucian, watched the surface of the water with an intense concentration. He seemed to be waiting for something. Then, bending forward so quickly it was as if he’d been shoved, he plunged his arm into the brook, emerging with something clasped tightly in his fist. A silver fish flopped desperately in his hand, so shiny that it seemed to be made of gossamer. He turned to the girl with a smile spreading across his face. 

“See?”

The girl’s eyes, the color of tree bark, widened incredulously. “I don’t understand how you can _do_ that!”

“It’s easy, Jocelyn. Your reflexes will get better when you start training.” He shrugged casually. “Some of us are just born with it, I guess.”

Jocelyn let out a snort laugh that her mother would’ve considered highly undignified. “Yeah, _oh-kay_.”

“It’s true! The Graymarks are known for their fast reflexes.”

“Maybe, like, five centuries ago. I stole a roll off Amatis’s plate the other night at dinner and she didn’t even notice.”

Lucian leaned forward again, dropping the fish back into the water where it landed with a resounding splash. “What are you doing stealing my sister’s food?”

“Relax, it was just a little piece of bread. It looked better than mine.” Jocelyn let go of her hair so that it fell over her shoulders like a curtain as she bent into a crouch.

“Well, whatever,” Lucian said in a voice that suggested he often conceded to her in these minor arguments. “Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? Maybe I’ll steal some food from you to teach you a lesson.”

“It’ll have to wait.” Jocelyn was watching a fish darting somewhere near her left ankle. “Mother wants me to come straight home tonight. She said that Daddy is going to talk to me about the Marking. And something about Alicante.”

Lucian bit his lip. “What about Alicante?”

“I don’t know. She just said…” She rose her voice to a comically high pitch. “ _Jocelyn, don’t run around with the Graymark boy until all hours of the night. We need to talk about how you’ll be upholding the family name_. And then I heard her say something to Daddy about the Academy.”

Looking even more worried now, Lucian asked, “Why doesn’t your mother like me?”

“When did I ever say she didn’t like you?”

“I mean, the fact that she doesn’t even know my name kind of makes me think…”

“She knows your name. Don’t be stupid. She just--” In a vain attempt to grab the silver fish, Jocelyn slipped on a mossy rock that had been hidden from her view, splashing to her knees. “By the Angel, this water’s cold. Anyway, she doesn’t remember anybody’s name. It’s a miracle she even knows who I am.”

Lucian sighed, slightly mollified. “Okay, okay.”

There was a pause as Jocelyn crouched in the water, letting it rush around her ankles as she studied its rippling surface. When she finally spoke, her voice was distinctly softer, more vulnerable.

“Do you ever wonder what it’s going to be like, getting Marked?”

“Well…” Lucian frowned. “Yeah. Everybody does, I guess. But you know Amatis said it’s not that bad. It hurts a little, that’s all.”

“But what if something goes wrong?”

“What would go wrong?" 

“Maybe… maybe I won’t be strong enough to do it. Maybe I won’t be tough enough.” She began talking faster, gaining momentum. “Daddy would be so mad, I know he always really wanted a son, can you imagine if I couldn’t--”

“Jocelyn!” Lucian seemed to be biting back a laugh. “Calm down, okay? You know you’re going to be fine. If anybody should be worrying about getting their first Marks, it’s me.”

Jocelyn straightened up, brushing mud off her knees. “Lucian…”

“You know it’s true.” He shrugged. “Maybe I have faster reflexes, but look at your family. Shadowhunting is in your blood.”

“It’s in yours too!”

“Yes, but not like you. Look at the family you come from, all the things they’ve done… I’ve heard your father talk about it enough. You’re related to Henry Branwell, and he invented like, everything the Nephilim use nowadays. And his wife started running the London Institute when she wasn’t much older than you are! You’ll do all kinds of great things too, Jocelyn. You know it.”

She smiled halfheartedly.

“D’you… d’you feel any better?” Lucian finished, focusing on the water rushing around the rocks at his feet.

“Yes.” She paused, pushing her hair off her shoulders. “Honestly, I wouldn’t even be able to go to Alicante without you. You know that, right?”

He smiled somewhat sadly. “Well, hey. What are best friends for?”

Jocelyn grinned in return, leaning over the water once more. “I need to get back to the house. But first…”

She plunged her hand downwards, breaking the glassy surface, triumphantly closing her slim fingers around one silver fish. Immediately, she thrust it upwards. It slipped out of her fingers within seconds, but her smile was so wide that Lucian couldn’t help but grin in return.

* * *

Jocelyn sat in her bedroom, anxiously kicking her heels against the wooden bedframe. She was probably scuffing the wood with her low buckled boots, but she didn’t really care; it wasn’t like she was going to be living here much longer anyway.

She cast a glance around the room with such a sentimental expression on her face that she would have been mortified had anyone witnessed it. This was where she’d grown up, the only home she’d ever known. The manor house itself was beautiful – all wood and gold and not quite nearly as cold and isolating as some of the other Nephilim family manors she had visited. 

But her room in particular was incredible. Someone in the family – it was either her great-grandfather or great-great-grandfather, she had trouble keeping them all straight – had designed an ornate window in the ceiling to function as a skylight. Faint constellations were etched across the glass in _adamas_ , the material which also endowed seraph blades with their angelic power. It served as a form of protection for the entire room. As a young child, Jocelyn had asked her father why they didn’t cover the whole house in _adamas_. Granville had laughed uproariously, patting her on the head. “Darling, we’d spend so much money that we wouldn’t even have a house to live in!” Apparently just the window alone had cost untold sums of money. Jocelyn loved it, the special quality of her very own bedroom. She never would’ve admitted it, but she liked the protection. It was nice to feel safe in your own little corner of the world.

The door swung open, squeaking a bit on its hinges, and Granville Fairchild strode through. He was an enormous man with a pleasant disposition, walking with a prideful gait which was never misconstrued as cocky. No one in the countryside of Idris feared Granville like they feared Cyril Morgenstern or Andrew Lightwood, whose demeanors showed that they were well aware of the power and riches their family had accrued over centuries. He was a kind man, and much of his time and energy was spent upon making his only daughter feel happy and cared for. Most Nephilim considered this kind of duty second to ensuring their children knew how to fight. Even at only twelve, Jocelyn knew she was lucky.

“Good evening, sweetheart,” Granville said, his voice booming to the point where it seemed like it was filling the entire room.

“Hi Daddy.” Jocelyn fiddled with the ends of her long hair; it had been months since it had been cut properly, but she knew her father wouldn’t comment on it or even notice.

Granville strode across the room in just a few giant steps, arranging himself carefully on a small lacy armchair beside Jocelyn’s bed. When Jocelyn had been a little girl, he had sat in that very same place, reading her stories. They were usually from the Shadowhunter’s Codex, a lesson in disguise, but he made everything from descriptions of the Silent Brothers to the tale of Jonathan Shadowhunter sound absolutely fascinting. _One day, we’ll read about you in here_ , he always said, thumping the Codex in pride.

“How are you feeling about your birthday?”

Jocelyn pulled her legs up onto the bed, leaning her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know. I’m sort of nervous.”

“Perfectly natural,” Granville said with a wave of his hand. “Everything will go stunningly well, my darling. There’s no need to worry your pretty little head.”

“Amatis said it hurts, though.”

“Well, with all due respect to Miss Graymark, Nephilim who experience pain during their first Marking are typically those of weaker bloodlines, those who are less skilled. I can assure you that no one in the Fairchild line has ever had a difficult time with their Marking." 

Instead of calming Jocelyn’s anxities, this only made her stomach churn furiously. No one in the family had ever felt pain during the Marking Ceremony? If she felt a twinge, she would be the first one. What if she couldn’t hide it and some uncomfortable expression showed on her face?

Granville smiled kindly, sensing her fear. “Shall we walk through what will happen at the Marking? Will that ease your mind a bit?” 

“No, Daddy, it’s fine. I know.” She gestured to the leatherbound notebook lying open beside her on the bed. Glancing down, she frowned at the scribbled print that criss-crossed the page. She wasn’t known for her good penmenship, and hoped her father wouldn’t comment on it now. “I’ve been studying.”

“Yes, you have!” Granville cried delightedly, leaning forward to examine the notebook. “You’ve learnt it all by heart, I assume?” 

“Oh yes, Daddy. I know everything I’m supposed to say.” She couldn’t help but puff up her chest in pride.

“Well, then I don’t see any need to continue poring over your notes, however dilligent and… artistic they appear to be,” he said with a wink. He gently closed the notebook and reached out to tousle his daughter’s unruly hair. “It’s important to be well-rested for your first Marking.”

“All right.” Jocelyn swallowed back the lump in her throat, hopping off her bed and folding down the comforter. “I’ll get ready for bed then.”

“Goodnight, darling.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “My brave little girl. I can’t wait to see the kind of Shadowhunter you grow up to be.”

After changing into her nightgown, Jocelyn sat on her windowseat for what felt like hours, staring out into the darkness of Brocelind Plain. The Graymark manor was about a mile away, but even in the darkest nights she could make out its lights. Staring through the trees, she wondered if Lucian was out there, lying awake and worrying too.


	2. Marking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things here: details of the Marking ceremony (specifically, some of Brother Enoch's lines) are taken directly from CLOCKWORK PRINCESS, so I have no ownership there. I assume that Shadowhunters, traditionalists as they are, don't often revise those lines! Also, keep an eye out for a few cameos... there are a handful of characters who you already know, and they will be quite important when Jocelyn finally gets to the Alicante Institute.

Sunlight streamed through the long Palladian windows of the Fairchild Manor foyer, warming the dust that drifted through the air. Jocelyn watched these floating specks through scrutinizing eyes. She was grateful to have something to concentrate on after being poked and prodded all morning. Convinced that the seamstress had missed something, Jocelyn’s mother had spent what had felt like hours adjusting the hem of her daughter’s skirt with rows of silver pins. Luckily, Adele Fairchild knew what she was doing with a needle, or Jocelyn had a feeling she would resemble a sloppily-sewn ragdoll.

The dress was deep red, the customary color for young Shadowhunters to wear during their Marking ceremony. When she was younger, Jocelyn had told Lucian that the color was meant to remind them of the demons they would fight in the coming years, the blood that would spill – she had said this mainly to see his face turn stark white, but looking back now, it didn’t seem funny at all.

“You look beautiful, my darling!” Granville bustled into the room, his hat clenched in one hand excitedly. He was beaming with pride. “Stunning! Sometimes it’s hard to believe that you’re really my daughter.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes, but she was smiling.

“Daddy, I don’t think there’s any question that I’m your daughter,” she said, yanking on a strand of her deep red hair.

He chuckled heartily. “The mark of the Fairchilds! Never be embarrassed by that hair, sweetheart.”

“Embarrassed?” Jocelyn crinkled her nose in confusion. “I’m not embarrassed.”

“No, why should you be? All the girls in Alicante will be so jealous of your beauty and grace - the same way they were jealous of your mother,” he added as Adele swept into the room. Jocelyn gave an automatic jolt as though she expected the woman to poke at her with a needle and thread again.

In Jocelyn’s opinion, she could not look more different from her mother. Adele Fairchild was tall and willowy with warm brown hair that tumbled past her shoulders in elegant curls. In the summers, it lightened to an almost blonde color of which Jocelyn was intensely envious. She could imagine her mother at the Academy perfectly, blazing through her lessons with the skill of a Shadowhunter ten years her senior. While Jocelyn’s father exuded an air of friendliness and optimism which drew people to him like a magnet, her mother’s cold confidence caused nothing short of awe. Jocelyn had long ago grown accustomed to the stares she attracted when they went out in public, but that didn’t mean she liked it. 

“Mother,” Jocelyn said, taking in Adele’s elaborate mauve and ivory gown. “Do you have to dress like that?”

Granville chuckled again, shaking his head and moving to open up the great wooden front door for their driver, who had just arrived. Jocelyn knew he was used to these scuffles between his wife and daughter.

Adele smiled vaguely.

“You’re my only child, Jocelyn. My little girl. This is a momentous occasion, wouldn’t you agree?”

There was no trace of anger in her voice like the kind she had heard in Elisabeth Graymark’s chastisements of Lucian and Amatis. Sometimes Jocelyn longed for that kind of normalcy: a parent who would send you to your room if you made a smart remark. But Adele seemed to value that characteristic in her daughter, and so she only encouraged it, enraging Jocelyn further.

“I just don’t see why you have to be so _fancy_ ,” Jocelyn muttered, realizing the battle was lost as her mother herded her toward the door.

“Be careful not to trip over your skirt when you get into the carriage,” Adele said simply, one hand firmly fixed to her daughter’s back.

 

* * *

 

 

Jocelyn felt like she and Lucian had been dreaming about the Hall of Accords for their entire lives. Granville traveled there often for business, regaling his daughter with stories of the glimmering white and gold walls, the way the entire hall seemed to sparkle in the sunlight. Growing up as an only child in an enormous manor house in the country could be quite lonely, and Jocelyn found herself longing to see Alicante, the glass city she had heard about for so long.

In an attempt to properly socialize her daughter, Adele had arranged for a number of suitable playmates to be brought to Fairchild Manor, usually shuttled over by their family driver. While these little girls were from well-to-do Nephilim families, Jocelyn either reduced them to tears within minutes or started screaming matches when they wouldn’t go along with the game she wanted to play. Adele finally had no choice but to take the calls of Elisabeth Graymark, who had long been encouraging her daughter Amatis to play with Jocelyn. It was shortly after Jocelyn’s fifth birthday that eight-year-old Amatis had arrived at the front gate of Fairchild manor, hand-in-hand with her little brother. Both children were somewhat shabbily dressed and Amatis’s hair looked like it hadn’t been brushed before it had been crammed into braids. Jocelyn learned later that Amatis liked to do everything by herself.

A thunderstorm had broken out during that first playdate, sending all three children racing back inside, dripping with rainwater and panting heavily. Lucian was on the verge of tears as the flames in the sconces illuminating the hallway flickered, and had made to reach for his sister’s hand, but Jocelyn had found it first, wrapping her fingers tightly around his. Amatis had done a double take at this act of compassion from the fiery little girl who had spent the past hour ordering them around the backyard, picking up sticks to build models of the demon towers of Alicante. Without a word, Jocelyn had guided him into the sitting room and they’d spent the rest of the rainy afternoon stacking cushions into buildings instead.

“This is Accords Hall,” Jocelyn had informed them both, enunciating perfectly as she gestured at a stack of velvet cushions that reached a foot above her head.

“What happens there?” Lucian asked, scrambling to see better, as if the cushions were going to shift and reform into an actual building.

“It’s where the Accords happened in 1857. The Shadowhunters decided that they wanted to be friends with the Downworlders, and nobody ever fighted again.” She glanced over to Amatis for confirmation. “Right?”

“Fought, not fighted,” Amatis corrected shyly.

Jocelyn gave the older girl an appraising look for a moment, and then nodded curtly. “But the rest is right.” It wasn’t a question.

“I guess so.”

“Accords Hall is where we get Marked,” Jocelyn continued, turning to face Lucian. She picked up a stick from the carpet which they had been using as a toy stele and grabbed Lucian’s arm with her other hand, turning it over so that the bare inside of his wrist faced the ceiling. Clenching the mock stele tightly in one fist, she began tracing an invisible pattern with immense concentration. “Lucian… what’s your middle name?”

“Abraham,” he said in a voice so soft it was almost undetectable.

“Lucian Abraham Graymark, you are now a Shadowhunter.”

Jocelyn finally saw Accords Hall for the first time shortly after her sixth birthday. Lucian was tagging along at her insistence, but Granville hadn’t minded; he liked the boy, didn’t mind his scruffy appearance. When they’d rounded the corner on Princewater Street and the tall, columned building had come into view glimmering like a second sun, Jocelyn had actually grabbed Lucian’s hand in shock. Her lips parted in wonder as she stared up at the building she’d been hearing about her entire life.

“This is it, children!” Granville had exclaimed importantly, gesturing toward the Hall as if they could really miss it. “Every important moment of your life will happen here. Your Marking ceremony, the annual Alicante Ball, your wedding--”

“Daddy!” Jocelyn laughed as if she found the idea ridiculous. “I’m not going to get _married_!” 

“You’re not?” he asked in mock surprise, looking down at his daughter who still clasped Lucian’s hand with a viselike grip. Lucian was still staring up at the building with an unreadable expression upon his face, appearing to not even hear the conversation happening around him.

“I just want to be a Shadowhunter. Not somebody’s _wife_.” Jocelyn made a face of disgust, scrunching her nose and sticking out her tongue.

Granville had laughed, reaching out to smooth down her hair, the exact same color as his own. “That’s a good goal, my darling. An excellent goal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Standing in front of Accords Hall at twelve years old, Jocelyn thought the building looked a lot bigger than it had when she was a child. Wasn’t the opposite usually true? Shouldn’t it have shrunken over time, looming large only in her memories?

“Ah, here’s the Graymark carriage,” Granville said happily, squinting into the summer sun.

“Lovely.” Adele busied herself by adjusting the contents of her silk and pearl handbag, clearly not caring to look at the carriage rattling up the street behind them. Jocelyn craned her neck excitedly, anxious to have her best friend by her side.

In other countries, Jocelyn had learned, it was common for young Shadowhunters to journey to the nearest Institute and receive their first Marking there. Things were a bit different in Idris, since it was the Shadowhunter home country. There were no Institutes in the countryside – only a small one located in Alicante, functioning as both a refuge for travelling Shadowhunters and the training academy in which they could move upon reaching age sixteen. Some children could move there at younger ages if there were extenuating circumstances; if they already lived in Alicante, for example, or if they were orphaned and had nowhere else to go.

Jocelyn knew she would be trained at home even if the Academy rules didn’t exist. Her mother needed to keep her around to criticize her every move. The idea of living in Alicante in four short years seemed thrilling in theory, but staring up at Accords Hall, Jocelyn couldn’t help but feel anxious. The Hall was considered a sacred place for ceremonies and rituals to occur, and since Idris was home to so many ancient and well-known Shadowhunting families, Jocelyn’s father had warned her that there was likely to be an audience anticipating her arrival. 

The Graymark carriage rattled along the cobblestone streets, coming to a halt about fifteen feet away from Jocelyn. She raised one hand to shield her eyes against the sun. Lucian’s pale and frightened face stared out through the dingy glass window. His eyes locked onto hers immediately, and she grinned with a faux confidence. It did the trick: Lucian seemed to visibly relax.

Jacob Graymark, who drove the family’s own carriage, climbed down to open the door for everyone. Lucian hopped out first, already making a beeline for Jocelyn. Amatis followed in his wake, gathering up the deep red skirts of her dress so that she wouldn’t trip.

Adele made a soft but disdainful noise. Amatis’s dress was the same one she’d worn three years earlier at her own Marking, Jocelyn realized with a sudden rush of secondhand embarrassment. It was a bit too short around the ankles. Elisabeth was good at sewing, but she and Jacob were always so busy traveling on Clave business; it had probably never even occurred to her let out the hem. As Amatis and Lucian reached the front of Accords Hall where the Fairchilds stood, Jocelyn absorbed the look of pride and excitement on Amatis’s face and felt her own embarrassment morph into a simmering anger. Couldn’t Adele at least offer to make dresses for Amatis every once in awhile? If you had a gift, weren’t you obligated to share it with those less fortunate?

“Hello, Jocelyn,” Amatis said happily. She wrapped the younger girl in a tight hug. “I’m so excited for you!”

“Thank you, Amatis.” Jocelyn returned the smile while reaching out to grab the collar of Lucian’s button-down shirt and yank him closer to her. Elisabeth Graymark, who had appeared out of the carriage to stand behind her son and daughter, smiled down at the pair.

“You look very beautiful, sweetheart,” Elisabeth said kindly, bending down a bit so that they could see eye to eye. She had the same coloring as both of her children: chestnut brown hair which was pulled back into a loose chignon at the nape of her neck and wide, dancing blue eyes. In every way, Lucian’s mother was the opposite of Jocelyn’s. She was much more caring, much more… motherly. Amatis and Lucian were lucky to have her, Jocelyn thought with a familiar twinge of jealousy. It was the same twinge she experienced every time she had dinner at the Graymark’s and Elisabeth steered the conversation to focus on whatever they, the children, had to say.

“Thank you,” Jocelyn said again, weaving her arm through Lucian’s as if he were going to escort her to a ball.

“Did you make her dress, Adele?” Elisabeth asked, straightening up and turning her head to look at Jocelyn’s mother. There was not a trace of annoyance or even envy in her voice.

“I did, yes,” Adele said proudly. “The finest velvet from the Ravendale Market over on High Street. I made a special trip last month--”

As the conversation veered into matters about which Jocelyn couldn’t care less, she turned her attention to her two friends.

“Okay, Amatis,” she whispered intensely. “What’s going to happen?”

Amatis gave her an indulgent smile. “I’ve told you probably a hundred times, Joss. I’m not going to say anything different this time. _And_ you’ve read the Codex back to front, I know you have.”

“Tell us again, though,” Lucian piped up. His glasses were sliding down his nose. Automatically, Jocelyn reached over and shoved them back up.

“You’ll walk into the Hall, then you’ll get called up one by one, then a Silent Brother will come out and Mark you – probably Brother Enoch, he did mine -- you’ll be presented to all of Nephilim society, you’ll be given books to study, and you’ll get assigned to your tutor,” Amatis recited. “But the whole tutor thing isn’t going to be a surprise for you two.”

Jocelyn blinked, shocked. “Your mother is going to be my tutor too?”

“I mean, I guess so.” Amatis shrugged. “I don’t think they would send somebody else all the way out there when we live so close together.”

Jocelyn felt a soaring happiness inside her chest. Elisabeth as her tutor! She had been desperately envious of Amatis these past few years, who had spend every Monday through Friday under the tutelage of her mother. The two of them practiced different battle stances and moves in the courtyard behind their house, and on rainy days sat inside the Graymark library working on languages. Jocelyn loved Fairchild Manor, but spending her days with Amatis and Lucian learning how to be a Shadowhunter seemed like paradise. 

“Jocelyn!” Adele called suddenly. Her voice was clipped in the way it always seemed to be in public. “Come here, please. It’s time to enter the Hall.”

Jocelyn sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically for Amatis’s benefit, who giggled behind her hand. Then Jocelyn surged forward, yanking Lucian along by the hand. Let her parents try to tear them apart.

Inside the great marble hall, Jocelyn and Lucian were immediately whisked away from their parents. Jocelyn caught a glimpse of the crowd, a blur of color and movement gathered in chairs on either side of the enormous Hall. Heart pounding desperately, Jocelyn released Lucian’s hand, wiping her sweaty palms on the skirt of her dress. Keeping Lucian close in front of their families was one thing, but to walk into the Hall showing such affection and friendship would be perceived as weakness. Fairchilds were not weak. Lucian gave her a quick, desperate look, and she had the involuntary thought that maybe he didn’t care as much about looking weak. She pushed the thought away immediately; he was her Lucian, the closest thing she had to a brother, her best friend in the whole world. The strongest person she knew. Of course he wasn’t weak.

The woman who had grabbed the two of them was someone Jocelyn knew only from photographs. She was not much taller than Jocelyn herself, but was quite beautiful, dark hair wrapped into a tight knot at the top of her head. She wore elegant, deep red robes that would’ve indicated her identity even if Jocelyn had not been so well prepared.

“Inquisitor Nightwell,” she said, inclining her head in a near-perfect imitation of her mother. The woman blinked, taken aback.

“I… yes, dear. Hello,” she said, not unkindly. “Come with me, both of you… there are only two others here for their ceremonies as well. It should not take long.”

The Inquisitor released her hold on Jocelyn and Lucian, but turned back several times to make sure they were still following her as she lead them down a steep spiral staircase. Sconces lit the walls on either side. Jocelyn sensed Lucian’s anxiety; he had never been fond of the dark, or enclosed spaces, for that matter. Not wanting to risk anything more obvious, she nudged her wrist against his. He looked over immediately, gray eyes dark in the flickering light. She made a face quickly, crossing her eyes, and a smile spread across his face before he could stop himself. He looked away quickly, pressing a hand to his mouth to prevent any noise from escaping.

When they reached the bottom of the staircase, Jocelyn immediately noticed the two other young Shadowhunters to which the Inquisitor must have been referring. A boy and a girl were standing stock still in the middle of the empty marble room, even though there were several old-fashioned velvet couches placed against the walls. There was a good ten feet of space between them. The girl stood with perfect posture, hands clasped gently in front of her body, soft brown hair hanging almost to her waist. She wasn’t smiling, but her warm hazel eyes indicated she would probably like to. Jocelyn thought she seemed somewhat familiar; most likely she had been forced to attend a play date at Fairchild Manor when they were barely out of infancy.

The boy would have looked nervous under any circumstance, but compared to the girl’s sense of calm, he looked on the verge of a breakdown. He was quite small and thin – Jocelyn wondered if he was actually twelve. He would _have_ to be, right? Nephilim under age twelve couldn’t bear the strain of Marks. He wore a similar red button-down shirt to Lucian’s, but it looked as though he was drowning in it.

“You four will continue to wait here,” the Inquisitor said. She pulled a stele from her pocket, and when the sleeves of her robe slid back, Jocelyn noted the black Marks winding up her forearms with a small thrill of excitement. “When the Silent Brothers are ready for the ceremonies to begin, I will call you up one by one. Madeleine, you will be first.”

The girl gave a polite smile and nod. “Yes, Inquisitor.”

Without another word, the Inquisitor crossed the room and climbed an identical staircase back up to the main Hall. Jocelyn surveyed the room, letting her eyes linger critically on the small boy, who had now inched closer to the corner and further from the rest of them.

“I’m Jocelyn Fairchild,” she said to the girl, extending a hand.

“Madeleine Bellefleur.” She gave another smile and nod, clasping Jocelyn’s hand firmly. “I think our parents know each other.”

“Yes, I think so.” The Bellefleurs… Jocelyn cast her mind around, landing finally on an image of a tall and elegant man and woman. The woman had a face like Madeleine’s; not exactly pretty, but not entirely unappealing either. “This is my best friend, Lucian.”

Lucian smiled shakily, stepping forward to shake Madeline’s hand.

“Who’s _that_?” Jocelyn asked, not bothering to lower the tone of her voice. She jerked her head in the direction of the small boy in the corner. 

Madeleine frowned slightly at Jocelyn’s tone, but in a flash her facial features smoothed out again. “He said his name is Roger Starkweather. But he goes by Hodge.”

To Jocelyn’s dismay, Madeleine actually turned to face the boy, tucking a lock of her perfectly straight hair behind one ear. “Hodge,” she said kindly. “Why don’t you come over here and meet Jocelyn and Lucian? We’ll all be together at school here in Alicante eventually.”

The boy – Hodge -- shot Jocelyn a look of pure terror, then slowly closed the gap between them. Even as he approached, he didn’t extend a hand, merely nodding in their general direction. Lucian smiled at Jocelyn, the corners of his eyes crinkling. She knew that he was waiting for her to lash out and scream at this boy to stand up straight and not be afraid, that fear was unbecoming on a Shadowhunter. She wouldn’t do it, she realized as she watched Madeleine pat Hodge gently on the back. Now was not the time to lose control.

“Madeleine Bellefleur!” The Inquisitor’s voice rang out through the small stone chamber. They all jumped, Hodge in particular. Madeleine breathed in deeply, then let it out so heavily that her shoulders sagged.

“Well, I guess this is it. Good luck to all of you.”

Jocelyn thought she detected a wavering note in Madeline’s voice and narrowed her eyes triumphantly. Maybe Miss Perfect wasn’t so fearless after all. Madeleine gave a tight lipped smile to the other three, then turned and marched up the staircase.

“Good luck,” Lucian offered as she retreated. Jocelyn shot him a fierce look and jabbed him in the ribs.

“ _Ouch!_ What’s the matter with you?”

“That little princess doesn’t need to be wished luck.”

Lucian was smirking now. He knew as well as any young Shadowhunter that ‘princess’ was a terrible insult to be hurled at a Nephilim girl; it was a mundane word used to imply weakness, pettiness.

“Wow, she really shook you up, huh?”

“She didn’t do anything to me. She’s irrelevant.”

“Suit yourself.” He shrugged, still smiling. “But I think it could be good for you to have a friend like her. Maybe she could teach you how to relax.”

Jocelyn crossed her arms haughtily. “I’m perfectly capable of relaxing whenever I need to.”

“Oh, I know,” Lucian said. He turned to Hodge. “See, look how relaxed she looks right now.” 

Hodge chuckled despite himself, moving slightly closer to Lucian as Jocelyn dropped her arms to her sides in exasperation. She walked over to the staircase, hoping to hear any sounds from above. Maybe Madeleine would start screaming, she thought with a sick fascination. Let that prove to Lucian how _relaxed_ she was. Boys were so stupid, she thought to herself bitterly. He probably just thought she was pretty.

Suddenly, as though she was being jolted out of a daydream, Jocelyn heard the rumble of voices from above and then a smattering of applause. It sounded as though heavy footsteps were scraping along the stone ceiling.

“She’s done!” Jocelyn cried somewhat hysterically, whirling around. “I didn’t even hear – I thought for sure she would--”

“See?” Lucian said to Hodge, gesturing at her, still smiling. “ _Relaxed_.” 

Jocelyn glared at him. She took several steps across the cold stone floor, prepared to smack him, but then a voice echoed through the room – 

“Jocelyn Fairchild!” 

Without a second glance at her best friend or the boy by his side, she flounced out of the room. He had thrown off her focus, she thought furiously. Weren’t you supposed to be emotionless for your first Marking? Maybe her anger would throw off the power of the Marks! As she climbed the stairs, she tried desperately to quell her anger, but it only had the opposite effect: she became more and more irritated at Lucian for distracting her. Those games were fine when they were teasing each other at home, running around in the countryside, but this was Alicante, and these kinds of things just wouldn’t—

For a moment, Jocelyn’s mind went utterly blank. She had reached the top of the staircase to find herself standing in the corner of Accords Hall. The domed glass ceiling above cast a brilliant white light throughout the enormous room, making it look as though she had just stepped into Heaven itself. Dimly, she registered rows and rows of people lining the edges of the Hall. She thought she could hear buzzing as though the Hall was packed with dozens of flies. They must be whispering, she realized as she walked mechanically toward a great golden chair that had been placed in the center of the room.

She didn’t think she was being presumptuous in assuming that she was the subject of the whispers – it had definitely only started when she had entered the room, possibly the moment her name had been called. She could feel the weight of a hundred eyes upon her. It was her name, she knew, as she reached the place where the Inquisitor stood flanked by two Silent Brothers. The Fairchild name was one of the most revered in Nephilim history… or at least that was how her father had always explained it to her. What would happen if the Marking didn’t work? She knew it was uncommon to have an unsuccessful Marking; she didn’t really believe that she would be transformed into a Forsaken in front of the entire Hall, but in this moment, her stomach was churning so badly that it seemed as though anything would be possible.

Slowly, she clenched and unclenched her fists at her sides, wishing privately that she could hold Lucian’s hand now. She couldn’t do that anymore, she realized, as the Inquisitor began addressing the crowd, reading from a scroll held in front of her on an immense dais. Starting today, she was Nephilim, an official Shadowhunter-in-training – no longer simply the daughter of great demon-hunters, but a demon hunter herself. What was she going to do, march into battle holding her best friend’s hand?

“Jocelyn, please be seated,” the Inquisitor said, calling the words for the entire Hall to hear.

She did as she was told, resting her arms on the ornate golden armrests as though she sat upon a throne. For a moment, she felt a thrill of fear as Brother Enoch approached her, his hood throwing nearly all of his scarred face into shadow. But this fear was quickly replaced by something more potent – a kind of sadness that she had never experienced before. _Because I’ve never lost anything before_ , she realized.

Brother Enoch extended one heavily scarred hand in which he held a stele. Jocelyn took a deep breath, tensing only slightly in the chair. 

 _Jocelyn Charlotte Fairchild_. Brother Enoch’s voice echoed inside her mind as clearly as if he had spoken to the entire room. It was a fascinating feeling; she had never met one of the Brothers before, much less spoken to one. _You are now of age. It is time for the first of the Angel’s Marks to be bestowed on you. Are you aware of the honor being done to you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

“Yes,” Jocelyn said in a loud, clear voice.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

She gave a firm nod. “I do accept them.” 

_Then we shall begin._

It took all of Jocelyn’s strength to remain still in the chair. She thought maybe her fingers fluttered for a moment against the carved armrests as Brother Enoch reached for her arm, but the second his fingers closed around her forearm, she consciously relaxed. His stele, held in the opposite hand, caught the sunlight and glimmered as he brought it forward to press against the skin of her arm. _This is it_ , she thought with a dizzying rush of excitement. _No turning back._  

Brother Enoch traced the stele gently along her arm, black lines swirling into the intricate shape she knew to be the Voyance rune. Jocelyn had a sudden flashing memory of sitting on her bedroom floor with Lucian several years ago, poring over the lengthy chapter on runes in the Codex. _It focuses your Sight_ , she had told him, tracing one finger over the rune. _The first rune we’ll ever get._

She was pleased to find that it didn’t hurt at all; there was a faint stinging which quickly developed into a feeling that seemed to be simultaneously hot and cold, a kind of vague burning. As Brother Enoch finished drawing, she noted that it resembled an almond-shaped eye.

The second rune she received was _enkeli_ , the rune for angelic power. As Brother Enoch traced it across her upper arm, she glanced up and found her parents sitting near the front. Granville, as she had imagined, wore an expression of utter joy, his eyes shining with tears. But it was her mother who she was eager to see. Jocelyn’s eyes locked upon hers. Her expression was neutral, save for a small twitching of her lips as though she wanted to smile but was unsure how that would appear.

Jocelyn scanned the crowd for the Graymarks. They weren’t difficult to find; the two families appeared to have had difficulty finding seats together, or maybe Adele had simply extricated herself from Lucian’s parents and sister, not deeming them appropriate to be seen with in public. The Graymarks had opted to sit closer to the Hall’s entrance, and all three of them were watching her with nothing less than pure, unadulterated excitement. There was Elisabeth, watching Jocelyn intensely as if she could control her movements via telepathy, and her husband, Lucian’s father Jacob, by her side and beaming proudly as if she were his own daughter. Amatis was at the edge of her seat, grinning; when Jocelyn met her eyes, she nodded emphatically as though urging her to go on.

 _Jocelyn Fairchild_ , Brother Enoch’s voice boomed again, jolting her back to reality. _You have received the Marks of the Angel, officially inducting you into the life of the Nephilim. As a daughter of Raziel, it is now your Heavenly duty to go forth and fight in the name of mankind on the side of the Angels, upholding the words of your ancestor, Jonathan Shadowhunter. Do you agree to continue the mission given to Jonathan Shadowhunter by the Angel Raziel, protecting the world from demonkind?_

“I agree.”

_Thus concludes the ceremony. Nephilim of Alicante, I present to you Jocelyn Charlotte Fairchild, Shadowhunter._

Heart pounding, Jocelyn leapt down from the chair. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination or if the crowd was applauding much louder than they had for Madeleine; she thought she even caught some cheers mixed in. Pleased with herself, she gave a little curtsy to the crowd that was at once feminine and glamorous. The crowd roared. Not even bothering to gather up her skirts – she was a Shadowhunter now, surely she would not trip – Jocelyn swept past the Silent Brothers and into Amatis’s waiting arms at the edge of the crowd.

“You were _amazing_!” Amatis whispered. She looked surprisingly pretty under the glimmering sunlight, blue eyes dancing with excitement.

“Thanks!” Jocelyn looked up at her with a grin. Amatis opened her mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.

“Your books, Miss Fairchild.”

A tall girl had emerged seemingly from nowhere, wearing a simple burgundy dress cinched at the waist with a thin black belt. She had wavy brown hair falling to her shoulders and a softly pretty face. She must be an assistant to the Inquisitor _,_ Jocelyn decided, taking the stack of books from the girl who was regarding Jocelyn with a strange look. It was the look, perhaps, of someone who desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t decide if it mattered.

“Thank you,” she said, looking down at the book on the top of the pile. _A History of the Nephilim_. She grimaced. It sounded thrilling.

“I’ll take the books,” Amatis said hurriedly, reaching out her arms. “You’ll want to be ready for your stele – right?” She turned to face the tall girl, who smiled.

“Yes. Your stele, Miss Fairchild.” The girl handed Jocelyn a thin wooden box. Her heart pounded; she couldn’t bring herself to open it quite yet. She wanted to preserve the soaring joy she felt for a few more moments.

“And finally, your tutor will be…” Jocelyn held her breath as the girl glanced down at a sheet of paper in her hands. She’d forgotten about this part. “Robert Lightwood.” 

Jocelyn’s lips parted indignantly, but Amatis gave her arm a yank, trying to pull her back to the seats. Surely the Inquisitor was about to summon Lucian for his own Marking. But Jocelyn stood her ground firmly.

“What do you mean? I thought Elisabeth Graymark would be my tutor,” Jocelyn said, unable to keep the whining note out of her voice. “The Graymarks live right next door to me. Can’t I just go there to be trained?”

“I’m sorry, Miss Fairchild,” the girl said. “Mr. Lightwood will have to be your tutor. I believe that, ah… your parents specifically requested him.”

“That explains a lot,” she muttered darkly.

“Jocelyn, come _on_ , we need to go sit down,” Amatis hissed. “You can complain about this later.”

“Sorry – thank you,” Jocelyn said hurriedly to the mysterious girl as she was herded away. The girl simply smiled and gave a slow nod of acknowledgement. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it or not, but she got a sense that the girl was wishing her luck.

People were still watching her, she noted with satisfaction as they hurried to take their seats; they were watching Amatis too, probably wondering who she was. She noticed several young Shadowhunters who looked to be just a few years older than the herself watching the pair with great envy. One girl leaned over to whisper to a group of friends, her long, glossy black hair hanging over her shoulders like a curtain.

“Can you believe I don’t get to be trained with you?” Jocelyn whispered as they slid into their seats. Amatis had covered two chairs with her gray wool travelling cloak, saving them for Jocelyn and Lucian.

“It’s not a big deal, Jocelyn. We’ll worry about it later. You should be really proud of yourself… you did so well!”

“Really?” Jocelyn asked with a somewhat guilty smile.

“Seriously. You didn’t even flinch! Remember my ceremony? I was making all these faces, it was terrible…”

“It wasn’t terrible,” Jocelyn said diplomatically.

“Thanks, Joss.” Amatis smiled, but Jocelyn could tell she was distracted. Her eyes were focused on the corner where Lucian would appear momentarily.

“He’ll be fine,” Jocelyn said, answering her friend’s unasked question. But despite her confident reassurance, she found herself chewing on her bottom lip as she watched Lucian emerge through the corner doorway. From so far away, he looked small. The sight made Jocelyn ache for the past, to be sitting in her warm and cozy living room building sofa cushion houses with Lucian and Amatis while rain pelted the picture windows. Before Lucian had gotten glasses, his eyes had appeared almost impossibly blue, wide and huge in his tiny, delicate face. He’d seemed breakable to Jocelyn. She’d loved him fiercely even then.

For the first time in her life, she felt a rush of terror shoot through her as she realized what being a Shadowhunter truly meant for Lucian, her Lucian. She’d spent so much time picturing herself romping around the world, hunting demons in a blaze of glory, that she had never bothered to imagine what it would mean for her closest friend. Lucian, hunting demons? He could barely hold the seraph blades that his father kept in his study.

As he took his seat in the golden chair, he cast a look up at the crowd, flipping his scruffy brown hair out of his eyes. Jocelyn knew he was searching for her and raised her hand to wave down at him. His eyes, wide behind his glasses, widened gratefully, his face splitting into a confident smile. She would not take her eyes off him, she decided, not even to look at Amatis. She would channel all her energy into making sure he made it through the ceremony successfully. And then their lives as Nephilim would truly begin. She would fight at his side. Maybe they would even become _parabatai_. Her soul was complete with his, and nothing would ever change that. Jocelyn blindly found Amatis’s hand and squeezed it tightly. Somehow, she felt like it was going to be more difficult to watch Lucian’s Marking than to endure it herself.

 _Lucian Abraham Graymark_. Once again, Brother Enoch’s voice resonated inside her head. She saw Lucian give a little involuntary jerk and willed him not to be afraid. He had never come face to face with a Silent Brother either. _You are now of age. It is time for the first of the Angel’s Marks to be bestowed on you. Are you aware of the honor being done to you, and will you do all in your power to be worthy of it?_

“Yes,” Lucian said in a voice full of false bravado. She felt a surge of affection toward him, a sudden admiration for his bravery.

_And do you accept these Marks of the Angel, which will be upon your body forever, a reminder of all that you owe to the Angel, and of your sacred duty to the world?_

“I do accept them.”

_Then we shall begin._

There was a terrifying moment when Brother Enoch’s stele touched Lucian’s forearm where Jocelyn thought he was going to cry out; she heard Elisabeth give a soft gasp from a few seats down. But whatever pain he had felt must have been fleeting, a brief sting as Jocelyn’s had been.

“He’s fine,” Jocelyn breathed, mostly for her own benefit rather than Amatis’s. Everything would be fine… it had to be.

But Lucian was going white now, his body trembling as he looked up again frantically to find Jocelyn’s face in the crowd. His face was so pale. Jocelyn pressed her lips together tightly, nodding in what she hoped looked like encouragement. He just had to make it through without crying out… it didn’t matter if he looked nervous, surely lots of people were nervous…

But as Brother Enoch completed the Angelic Rune on his upper arm and began rolling his shirt sleeve back down, Lucian gave a great gasp that seemed to echo through the room, sending a chill down Jocelyn’s spine. He slumped forward in the glimmering golden chair and moved no more.

 

 

 


	3. Voyance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed! It means a lot to me! And from now on, I’m going to get on a more regular schedule… I’ll be posting an update every other Monday, which means that the next chapter will be up on OR by March 10th. (I work way better under strict deadlines.) This chapter was one of my favorites to write, and I’ve been really excited to learn that the friendship between Emma and Julian in Cassie’s upcoming series TDA is somewhat similar to how I imagine young Jocelyn and Luke. Cute pre-adolescent friendships are my favorite. Anyway, if everything goes as planned, this will be the penultimate chapter featuring Jocelyn and Luke as twelve-year-olds. After that, we’ll do a bit of a jump forward, Valentine will come into the picture, and things will really kick into high gear. Thanks again for reading, and please leave a review if you feel compelled to do so and let me know how you’re feeling about the story!

“For the millionth time,” Jocelyn said in exasperation, stretching her arms over her head, “It doesn’t mean _anything_.”

Lucian’s face was pale in the moonlight even though hours had passed since his fainting spell in the Hall of Accords. “You’re positive?”

“Are you going to make me read from the Codex again? Because I’ll do it if it’ll shut you up.”

Since arriving back at Graymark Manor, Jocelyn had been paging through the Shadowhunter’s Codex, reading aloud every section which mentioned runes and first Markings. It had been ascertained that it was normal, even sometimes expected, for Shadowhunters to experience discomfort when receiving their first runes. Some even went into shock – this was what the Inquisitor had explained to a panicked crowd back in the Hall. Lucian had fainted from the shock. She could see why he was embarrassed – she would’ve been mortified had it happened to her – but it wasn’t the end of the world. 

“It’s okay,” Lucian said quietly, pressing his face into his white cotton pillow.

“If the Marking _really_ hadn’t worked, your flesh would’ve peeled back from the bone,” Jocelyn stated matter-of-factly. “Did that happen?”

Lucian rolled onto his back, inspecting his forearm where the black Voyance rune seemed to glow in the moonlight. “Nope.”

“You’ll live to see another day, then.” Jocelyn couldn’t help but grin as he intensely stared at his arm as though expecting it to suddenly catch on fire.

“Good, cause I couldn’t stand not seeing you become the world’s greatest Nephilim.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“The second coming of Jonathan Shadowhunter – Jocelyn Fairchild!” he intoned dramatically in a pretty decent impression of the Inquisitor. Jocelyn yanked the pillow out from beneath her head, smacking him with it, but they were both laughing. This was their comfort zone, the only place Jocelyn really knew she felt at home. 

By the time the Fairchilds had returned from Alicante, it had been almost nightfall. There had been a banquet after the Marking ceremonies during which Elisabeth had fussed consistently over Lucian, forcing him to eat practically a whole chicken and a heaping pile of roasted potatoes with garlic. The banquet had been a bit of a letdown for Jocelyn; she’d wanted to chat with Amatis about the colossal unfairness that had been bestowed upon her by forcing her to be tutored by someone other than Elisabeth, but her parents had introduced her to their friends with such frequency that she felt like she couldn’t sit comfortably for more than ten seconds. Meeting the female children of her parents’ friends hadn’t been that bad – most of the girls had blatantly stared at Jocelyn with almost hungry expressions, although they would like nothing more than to trot around at her heels for the rest of the day. But when Jocelyn was introduced to five young boys in a row, she became irritated and loudly asked her mother if she was going to parade every young male in Idris in front of her until she chose a husband. Appalled at her attitude, Adele had decided to cut their appearance at the banquet short and had summoned their carriage.

“Who is Robert Lightwood, anyway? An old man you’re going to force me to marry?” she had asked sardonically as soon as the carriage door had closed.

Jocelyn’s father had turned to face her then, and his expression startled her into silence.

“Robert is the son of a very good man,” he had said firmly. “Andrew Lightwood. His family once did a great service to ours. It would be an insult to assume that we merely hired his son to tutor you because of a desire to combine the bloodlines.”

Jocelyn had the nagging feeling that he was addressing his wife as much as his daughter. Sure enough, when she turned to see the expression on Adele’s face, she found that she was pursing her lips disdainfully. 

“They _would_ have beautiful children,” she had lamented.

“Mother!” Jocelyn had snapped. Was everyone in her family just determined to ruin this important day for her?

Granville had given his wife a look which Jocelyn couldn’t quite make out, and then turned to his daughter with a kinder look in his eyes. “Robert is eighteen. Just out of school, which means he’ll be a valuable resource to you, darling. You can ask him anything you’d like about the Institute in Alicante, and he’ll be able to give you some excellent insight.”

That was that – the matter was settled. Gone were Jocelyn’s hopes of spending long hours racing around the Graymark’s back courtyard perfecting her backflips, of sitting side-by-side with Lucian and Amatis in the study as they copied Latin phrases into their notebooks. It would be her and Robert working alone for the foreseeable future… definitely the next three and a half years, until she was sixteen and old enough to move to Alicante. When she was there, she had decided, she and Lucian would be inseparable again. Maybe they would wait until then to complete the _parabatai_ ceremony. 

Yes, that was a good idea, she decided, lying flat on her back in Lucian’s four-poster bed. It would give them time to test their combined strength, to practice battling together in front of their peers. Then they could officially be marked. She peeked through her eyelashes at Lucian, who appeared to have drifted off to sleep. It was lucky to have found your _parabatai_ by the time you were twelve. Almost unheard of, according to the Codex. 

“Lucian,” she hissed. When he didn’t respond, she poked him hard in the shoulder.

“Ouch! By the Angel, Jocelyn!” 

“Sorry. I was just thinking. What would happen if we just went ahead and did the _parabatai_ ritual right now?”

His eyes flickered open, brow furrowing. “Okay, please tell me you didn’t just wake me up for this.”

“You couldn’t have been sleeping that deeply yet anyway.” 

“Jocelyn, for somebody who reads the Codex as much as you do, I can’t believe you don’t know this. You can’t just do the Marking thing and become _parabatai_.”

“What, do you need proper mood lighting?”

“You need years of practice to be able to draw that kind of rune on somebody else. _And_ supervision.”

She rolled her eyes.

“No, seriously. If we just started scribbling on each other right now, we could really hurt each other. Just be patient. I know that’s impossible for you, but…” He trailed off, becoming wary at the sight of the expression spreading across her face. “What is it?”

“Scribbling on each other,” she repeated, frowning thoughtfully. Then she grinned. “Okay. Sit up.”

“But I want to sleep! Take pity on me, I’m in shock!” 

“I have no pity for you, Graymark,” she said, sitting up and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Her slightly battered knapsack was on the floor by the window where she’d tossed it after sneaking into the house. From the knapsack, she retrieved a handful of black pens. She always had a notebook and pens with her; when she wasn’t in the mood to run around and play, she would sit somewhere comfortable and sketch her surroundings. She didn’t think her drawings were very good, but it couldn’t hurt to practice. In fact, the practice seemed to help her learn runes more quickly. She had a good number of them memorized already, something that the Codex stated a lot of beginning Shadowhunters struggled with.

“Here,” she said, walking back over to the bed and handing a pen to Lucian.

“Jocelyn, what--?”

She shushed him, plopping down on top of the dark blue comforter and arranging her feet underneath her. “Do you know how to draw the _parabatai_ rune?”

“Yeah, of course I do.” He suppressed a smile. “I know you think I’m useless, but I _have_ learned a couple things from the Codex.”

“I never said you were useless,” she said distractedly, uncapping her pen. “Hold out your arm. We’re going to practice.”

Lucian was watching her carefully, his eyes remarkably wide in the absence of his glasses. The moonlight streaming in through the circular window above his bed cast shadows across his face. He was looking more grown up recently, Jocelyn noted, momentarily caught off-guard as she wrapped her thin fingers around his wrist. It wouldn’t be long before she would be unable to find any trace of that little boy in his face, the one she’d chased around the garden waving a twig, pretending it was a seraph blade.

“Ready?” he asked, looking up to meet her eyes. She smiled broadly. He might have thought she was being ridiculous at first, but he’d caved. Just like he always did. Like he always _would_ , she knew.

“Ready,” she said, extending her arm. Lucian pressed the pen to her forearm almost instantly, and then, slowly but simultaneously, they began to draw.

“ _Whither thou goest, I will go,_ ” Jocelyn recited, biting her lip in concentration. She wondered if Lucian had actually bothered to memorize the oath. It seemed like the sort of thing only she would spend time doing. 

He took her by surprise. “ _Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried,_ ” he continued confidently, all traces of sleep gone from his voice.

“ _The Angel do so to me, and more also…_ ”

“ _If aught but death part thee and me_.”

Jocelyn pulled her arm back and smiled at the slightly messily drawn rune on her arm. It didn’t quite resemble the one she had etched across Lucian’s skin, but then he had never been much of an artist.

“You did a great job,” she assured him anyway.

He smiled, still inspecting the rune Jocelyn had drawn. “Not as good as you. This really looks real.”

“It is real!” She pretended to look offended. “I’m an expert!”

“You will be one day. I bet you’ll learn all the runes in the Gray Book.” He flopped onto his back, head hitting the pillow again. “You’ll even make new ones, I bet. Maybe a rune for getting grass stains out of fancy dresses.”

“Don’t be dumb, nobody can create runes,” she said disparagingly, but as she turned to drop her pen onto the beside table, she smiled to herself. The rune, just below the actual Voyance rune she’d received earlier that day, seemed to glimmer and shine with life. She hoped it would never fade from her skin. She could not wait one more day, let alone four years, to have it Marked permanently.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes after spending the night at the Graymark’s, Jocelyn would stay for breakfast, helping herself to Elisabeth’s delicious toast with butter and brown sugar and having a cup of earl gray tea. Elisabeth always pretended to be preoccupied when Jocelyn appeared at the foot of the stairs with Lucian right behind her, operating under the guise of assuming she had walked over to meet up with him earlier that morning. She always gave Jocelyn her favorite teacup, white and silver with a pattern of willow trees and a slight chip in the handle.

This morning, however, Jocelyn let herself out through the back door into the garden and, after whispering a quick goodbye and thank you to Lucian for letting her sleep over, darted through the garden and up across the embankment that almost hid Graymark Manor from view when looking out her own bedroom window. It was a steep climb and she almost slipped several times on the wet grass; it must have rained the previous night. As she ran, she glanced up at the sun, trying to remember what her father had taught her about its position in the sky during the morning hours. It was probably no later than 9:00 in the morning, so she would make it home right around the time she would normally be waking up.

As Fairchild Manor came into view, she realized with a jolt that there was an unfamiliar carriage in the driveway. Today was the day that her new tutor, Robert Lightwood, would be arriving to begin training her, but her mother had promised her that he wouldn’t be there until at least noon. Was she already being put through some kind of test? If that was her mother’s plan, it was only going to backfire, Jocelyn thought, catching a glimpse of herself in the reflection of the sitting room window as she leapt over the hedges lining the expansive yard. She was wearing a broken-in pair of jeans that had once belonged to Amatis and a baggy gray sweatshirt that Lucian often let her borrow when she spent the night at his house. Her nightgown and yesterday’s red dress were stuffed messily into her backpack. Somehow she’d gotten dirt on her nose. 

An old oak tree stood in the side yard, its branches stretching past Jocelyn’s second floor bedroom window. This was how she always made her escape. Unfortunately, it was significantly harder to get up than it was to get down. Often she returned home to find that her parents were out on Clave business, so she simply let herself in through the back door. They were definitely home today though, specifically to welcome Robert and to make sure their only daughter didn’t make a fool of herself. 

Smirking to herself, she tucked her messy auburn hair behind her ears and jumped up to grab onto the lowest hanging branch. With tremendous effort – upper body strength was not her forte – she hoisted her body up onto the branch, lying across it and clinging like a spider monkey. Slowly, she pushed herself into a sitting position, stretching her right arm and then her left up above her head. If she strained, she could almost reach the next branch without having to stand… it was _right there_ , just a few inches away… her fingers closed around it and with all her strength, she was pulling herself up, twining her legs around the branch for support. She glanced up; her bedroom window was still a good five feet above her head. If she stood, she should be able to reach it. She made the split second decision to shrug off her backpack and wedge it back against the trunk of the tree. There was nothing really important in there – just her stele, and surely she wouldn’t need it for this first lesson. She could come back for it later. Carefully, she tucked her feet underneath her body and pushed herself up with shaking fingertips…

“They didn’t tell me you were a climber,” a voice boomed from below. 

Jocelyn yelped, slipping sideways off the branch and sending her backpack hurtling to the ground. Her reflexes took over; one hand shot out and gripped the branch as she fell.

“What the _hell_?” she yelled, dangling pathetically by one arm.

“Such language!”

He had to be Robert Lightwood, Jocelyn realized as she stared down at the figure dressed in full black Shadowhunter gear. His hair was very dark and his skin quite tan; as he raised one hand to shield his eyes against the brilliant sun, she saw a crooked smile on his face. She decided that she hated him. 

“Get out of my way,” she snapped.

“Yeah right.” He held out his arms. “Let go of the branch, Jocelyn. I’ll catch you.”

She stared down at him incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m your tutor. Of course I’m not kidding.” His voice did sound pretty humorless. Jocelyn kicked pathetically at the air. If only she could grab her stele from the backpack on the grass below… but what would she do, she realized bitterly, draw a levitation rune with one hand? As far as she knew, there were no runes that could get her out of this situation. Her only option was to free fall and pray that her genetic Shadowhunter agility skills would kick in, giving her a safe landing.

“I’m going to say it one more time,” Robert said in a world-weary voice. Was she really going to break him this quickly? “Let go. I’ll catch you.”

“I don’t need you.”

He sighed. “By the Angel, your parents warned me you’d be stubborn. I’ll--”

But she never found out what he was going to do. There was a crunching of boots on gravel coming around the side of the house. Robert whirled around, letting his hand fall to his side. Jocelyn held her breath. Her fingers were going numb, pain shooting up and down from her elbow. There was only so much longer she could support her entire body like this.

“Robert! Hello, son!” 

Jocelyn let out a minuscule sigh of relief. It was only her father. Now she just had to hope that he wouldn’t think to look up…

“Hello, Granville,” Robert said somewhat nervously. He reached up to smooth back his wavy black hair. “How are you this morning?”

“Oh wonderful, wonderful,” Granville said jovially, surveying the grounds. “Just came out to check on the tomato plants in the back garden… we’ve hired a new gardener, you see, the last one nearly let the entire yard turn into a forest while we were in London, and--” 

She could not hold on for one more second. Mentally cursing Robert Lightwood’s entire family, Jocelyn’s fingers slipped from the branch, sending a handful of bark scattering across the top of her head as she plummeted to the ground. She clenched her teeth and had just enough time to relax her muscles and bend her knees before she slammed into the ground, right next to the spot where her father stood. 

For a minute, the entire world was silent except for the faint chirping of birds in the distance. Then, to Jocelyn’s intense relief, Granville let out an earsplitting roar of laughter. She looked up, a pitiful figure crouching in the dirt with bark, leaves, and dirt nestled into her hair, and met Robert’s eyes. He had a fist pressed firmly against his mouth, clearly determined not to laugh.

“Starting your training already, my darling!” Her father bent over to smile down at her, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I didn’t even hear you up in that tree! Had you been a demon, I would be dead right now!”

“Had I been a demon, I wouldn’t have had to put up with this asshole,” Jocelyn grumbled, jerking her head in Robert’s direction. Luckily, her father couldn’t hear her over his fresh peals of laughter. 

“She’s doing a great job so far, sir,” Robert said, raising his voice so as to be heard over Granville’s laughter. “A natural at falling.” 

“Well, keep it up, children! Keep it up!” he exclaimed, reaching down to pat Jocelyn on the head fondly and then marching off to the back garden, assumedly to check on the aforementioned tomato plants. As soon as his back was turned, Robert began chuckling out loud. 

Jocelyn straightened up painfully. She’d fallen in a pretty impressive crouch, but her ankle was throbbing; she must have twisted it. “Get me my stele.”

“Excuse me?”

“My _stele_. It’s in my backpack.” She gestured behind her to where the backpack lay mournfully in the grass, half open with clothes spilling out through the zipper. The movement made her wobble painfully on her hurt ankle.

“Oh no, you’re not Marking yourself yet,” Robert said, kneeling in the grass and pulling his own stele out of his back pocket. With surprisingly gentleness, he grabbed ahold of her left leg and pulled it toward him, rolling up her jeans neatly.

“I know how to draw _iratzes_! I’ve been practicing them on paper since I was five!” she exclaimed, affronted, as she watched him trace the rune across her ankle. Despite her indignation, it was hard not to be impressed with his speed. In the time it took her to blink, a swirling black shape had appeared across her pale skin. It burned and made her shiver at the same time, but the pain immediately subsided.

“I’m sure you can draw excellent _iratzes_ ,” Robert said as he straightened up. She searched his face for signs of condescension but was surprised to find none. “Your father told me that you’re a good artist, and people with artistic talent are usually skilled with runes. It has nothing to do with you being only twelve, Jocelyn. You’ll find that when you’re injured, it’s always better to have another Shadowhunter Mark you. An uninjured Shadowhunter drawing a rune for you allows you to draw on their strength, which brings you back to full health much more quickly.” 

Jocelyn blinked, impressed. It sounded like he was quoting the Codex. 

“That makes sense,” she said slowly.

He nodded his head curtly. “Well, you clearly know a lot already. That wasn’t a bad fall; I’ve seen older Shadowhunters than you hurt themselves more severely after falling shorter distances. Who taught you how to land?”

“Myself.”

Robert stepped back, giving her an appraising look. “Well. Looks like I have my work cut out for me. Go change into gear and I’ll meet you in the study.”


	4. Progress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter, a bit earlier than I expected! Writing this was somewhat bittersweet, but also really exciting… this is the last chapter featuring twelve-year-old Jocelyn and Luke. When we see them next, they’ll have been in training for four years and will be about to move together to Alicante. (One quick note: you’ll see me calling their new training facility the Institute and the Academy somewhat interchangably. It’s a result of me desperately trying to stay in canon, haha… as Cassie had never explained exactly where Shadowhunters are trained in Alicante, I had decided to set their training in an Institute similar to the Institutes around the world. Then, this week she wrote in a blog post that it’s called the Academy. In my mind, the actual building is the Institute – it’s a church fully equipped with dormitories, etc. – but the school part is referred to as the Academy.)
> 
> Let me know how you like the chapter, and look for the next one to be posted by March 24th!

As Jocelyn’s first month of training drew to a close, Robert Lightwood, as her tutor, was required by the Clave to present a progress report to her parents. Another copy of the report would then be handed over to the Clave itself. Robert had refused to acknowledge Jocelyn’s repeated requests that he allow her to look over the report before her parents saw it – “it’s against the _Law_ , Jocelyn,” he snapped with increasing annoyance. 

Like the Law was that intense, Jocelyn thought scornfully. Robert Lightwood was in love with the Law. She wondered how he’d wound up tutoring her straight out of the training rather than going to work for the Clave itself.

Because of Robert’s lack of compliance with her scheming, she walked into the sitting room on Friday morning prepared to be completely blindsided by her parents. She thought she had done quite well that week, but she still hadn’t gotten a feel for Robert. She couldn’t tell whether he was fond of her underneath the layers of sarcasm and disdain or if she just genuinely bugged him as much as he bugged her. 

When she entered the sitting room, she found her mother and father sitting side by side on the elegant green velvet couch. Adele’s ankles were crossed neatly and she and Granville were both dressed in gear, though Adele didn’t quite look ready for a fight; she wore a silky black tunic that could have passed for a casual dress. Granville’s black button-down shirt was neatly pressed, the collar crisp against his neck. His eyes twinkled as Jocelyn entered the room. 

“Hello, dear,” Adele said, regarding her daughter with an appraising look.

“Hello, Mother. Hello, Daddy.”

Jocelyn sank into the white and gold pouf across from them, careful to keep her back straight. She had put on gear that morning with great pride; she thought she looked almost regal wearing all black. Knowing that she was simply headed into the sitting room, she had left the leather belt with a holder for her stele back in her bedroom, but the tension in the room was so strong that she almost felt like she actually was heading into battle.

“Were you outside with the Graymark boy?” Adele asked, her face slightly pinched.

“Lucian,” Granville corrected softly, and Jocelyn was so surprised she almost forgot to answer. There was no need to deny where she’d been – her hair was tangled and there was mud all over her pants.

“We were down by the river. He’s been teaching me how to catch fish.” She brushed haphazardly at her knees as though the dirt could be so easily banished.

“That’s nice,” Granville said, a genuine ring to his voice which pleased Jocelyn. She hated her mother’s easy dismissal of the Graymarks.

“Fish?” Adele echoed, right on cue. “Well, I suppose that’s better than a Shax demon.”

“Mother, that was _so long ago_ ,” Jocelyn sighed with a tremendous eye-roll as Granville chuckled. The infamous story of Jocelyn’s first victory over a demon had been told and retold by her parents so often that she now knew every word of it by heart: at age seven, she and Lucian had gone to play on the outskirts of Brocelind Forest. Amatis was supposed to be watching them, but had grown bored and wandered back home to find lunch. Suddenly, Lucian had screamed: a Shax demon had appeared from behind a tree and begun slithering toward them, wet leaves crinkling under its disgusting body. Without a second thought, Jocelyn had grabbed Lucian’s hand and pulled him all the way back to Fairchild manor, Shax demon at their heels. After smashing the picture window to her father’s office with her boot, she unlocked a seraph blade from its wooden case and plunged it through the demon’s body. Her father had been nearly hysterical with excitement and told the story to every Nephilim in Idris – or probably, at this point, the world.

“Some of us don’t forget so quickly, darling,” Adele said with a heavy sigh. “Ichor all over the carpet…”

“Jocelyn, we did call you in here for a reason,” Granville interrupted. She turned to face him curiously. It was then that she realized he was holding a thin sheet of paper in one hand. “Would you like to read your report from Robert?”

Jocelyn’s heart started pounding. Forgetting to be a lady, she launched herself off the pouf and reached for it.

“Yes, please, Daddy.”

He chuckled. “Have a look, then. We’ll ask you what you think when you’ve finished reading.”

Jocelyn sank back into her seat slowly, skimming the paper. Robert’s handwriting was fairly neat for a boy’s.

 

_ Report for Jocelyn C. Fairchild _

_Monomachia – Excellent knowledge of basic fighting techniques. Not hesitant to throw punches or smack those who disagree with her._

_Combat – Can name most of the angels required to activate seraph blades. Student has not yet been tested with handling seraph blades. Tutor’s decision._

_Stealth – Capable of walking softly when she tries. Has a habit of tossing her hair. Tutor recommended that student tie her hair back during training. Suggestion was ignored._

_Agility – Remarkable for her age. Moves with grace. A natural at basic acrobatics. Sometimes falls over when walking._

_Orienteering – Strong natural ability to navigate her way out of difficult situations without a compass rune. Student was left in Brocelind Forest with strict instructions to find her way back to the tutor. Instead, student was located two hours later picking flowers in the garden of Graymark Manor with Graymark daughter._

_Languages – Strong English vocabulary, particularly profanity. Near fluency in French, Spanish, and Portuguese. Working knowledge of Latin. Basic knowledge of Ancient Greek. Shows great interest in learning runes._

_Overall impressions – Hot-headed, impatient, and strong-willed child. Not afraid to get her hands dirty. Not afraid of anything, as a matter of fact. Could likely begin her Alicante education much earlier than sixteen. Tutor recommends an early start for socialization purposes._

 

Jocelyn looked up from the paper cautiously. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or roll her eyes. There were plenty of compliments buried in Robert’s obnoxiously sarcastic report; surely her parents would be pleased that he thought she could start at Alicante sooner? They already knew she needed to be around more children her own age, so that part shouldn’t have been a surprise.

“We’re very proud of you, darling,” Granville said immediately, as though he couldn’t bear to be silent for one more moment. He grinned widely. “Anyone who reads this could tell what a spirited girl you are! All the makings of a promising young Shadowhunter!”

Jocelyn bowed her head to give an impression of modesty. According to her mother, a lady should never _act_ like she knew she was gifted. But the corners of her mouth twitched into a half-smile, hidden by her curtain of hair. _Could likely begin her Alicante education much earlier than sixteen_ – the sentence was buzzing in her head, possibilities swirling through her imagination like leaves on the wind. She was good already, she knew, but she would be so much more.

 

* * *

 

That afternoon, Jocelyn and Lucian lay side by side in the field behind Graymark Manor. The sky was a cloudless blue blanket high above them – a strange sight for late September. It often rained in Idris as the seasons rolled from summer to autumn. These fields had been a favorite spot for the two of them for years. The Graymarks spent more time and energy on Shadowhunter business than their grounds, so the grass grew long and wild. Jocelyn loved it, felt much more at home there than the perfectly cultivated gardens of her own backyard. 

“So how did your progress report turn out?” Lucian asked.

 Jocelyn’s lips twisted into a small, embarrassed smile. “Pretty well, I think.”

“Pretty well, or astonishingly, mind-blowingly, recording-breakingly well?”

“‘Breakingly’ isn’t a word.”

“Jocelyn.”

“Okay, okay.” She turned her head to face him. He was still staring up at the sky, expression unreadable. “Robert ratted me out like I knew he would… he said I had a bad temper, whatever.”

At this, the corners of Lucian’s mouth quirked upward. Jocelyn pretended not to see. 

“He said I could go to Alicante earlier than usual, though.”

“Did he?”

 “I wouldn’t want to,” she said hurriedly, tilting her head back upwards to squint into the sun. _Not without you._

They lay together in a calm, serene silence for a few moments. Lucian didn’t even sound like he was breathing. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“You can do whatever you want. I probably won’t ever get to go to Alicante.”

Jocelyn rolled over, leaning on one elbow and staring down at him. “Why the hell not?”

“C’mon, Jocelyn. I can’t do _anything_ as well as you can. I’m still drawing runes on paper because Mother doesn’t trust me to do anything to my own skin yet.”

“That’s not a big deal,” Jocelyn said, sitting up straight and crossing her legs underneath her. “Robert told me you can really get hurt if you Mark yourself before you’re ready. Your mother’s just being careful, especially since you…”

“Especially since I what? Shamed my entire family in front of all of Alicante?” Lucian faced Jocelyn with a stormy expression, a wave of anger coloring his face so severely that for a second she almost didn’t recognize him.

“You didn’t--”

“Don’t even deny it, okay? It’s not like when we were little kids and you sugarcoated everything for me so I wouldn’t have to be upset.” 

Jocelyn blinked, shocked at his bitter tone. “I was just protecting you!”

“Protecting me? You’re a little girl, Jocelyn! It’s bad enough that my sister makes me hide behind her all the time, holding her hand if I _get too scared_.” Furiously, he put his head in his hands. “I can’t go through life hiding behind you too.”

“But when we go to Alicante, they’ll teach us!” Jocelyn protested. “We’ll _learn_ how to stand up for ourselves! I never know what I’m doing either, Lucian, I promise. It’s just, maybe… maybe I’m better at faking it.”

Lucian sighed heavily, plucking at a blade of grass. “And your glowing little progress report from Robert Lightwood? You faked your way through that?”

“It’s probably just in my blood, Lucian. I can’t control who I’m descended from any more than you can control your… your family,” she finished shakily, already knowing she had said something awful. Lucian tore his eyes away from hers and got to his feet.

“Nice to know what you really think,” he said coldly.

“It’s not what I _think_ , it’s fact!” Jocelyn struggled to explain. “Certain Shadowhunter families are just… they have…”

“They’re better. Just say it, Jocelyn, I can read it on your face: _your family is better than mine._ And when they marry you off to Robert Lightwood, you’ll get an even better life, just like you’ve always wanted.”

With that, he was gone, kicking up dust and weeds as he raced across the field toward Graymark Manor. Jocelyn couldn’t muster the energy to run after him. Folding her arms across her chest and watching his retreating back, all she could think was: _What a weird thing to get so upset over._

* * *

 

 

Jocelyn had been only six years old when she had discovered the perfect method of getting into the Graymark house late at night. She would shimmy in through the loose cellar window, tiptoe up into the kitchen, and then use the ancient dumbwaiter to haul herself up to the second floor, entirely bypassing Lucian’s parents’ room. After a few months of this, it had dawned on her that perhaps it wasn’t simply good luck that prevented Elisabeth and Jacob from waking up every single time she used that god-awful, creaky contraption to elevate herself upstairs; they were probably just laughing to themselves and letting her be. This suspicion was only confirmed by the fact that as the weather grew warmer that year, Jocelyn would often find their kitchen window left wide open, yellow curtains fluttering in the evening air.

Even though the Graymarks didn’t oppose to Jocelyn’s late-night visits, she kept up the secret act; it was fun, but more importantly, it was excellent Shadowhunter practice. After six years of sneaking around, Jocelyn was proud of her ability to walk almost soundlessly, even while wearing her sturdy brown leather boots. She could probably sneak into Accords Hall and steal half of the important artifacts, she thought proudly as she wound her way through a thicket of trees toward the Graymark house. 

As September faded into October, the air was growing cool and biting, rustling the bare branches above Jocelyn’s head as she walked. The moon, round and golden and almost full, brightly illuminated the worn trail through the dirt. Ordinarily, she might have stayed over at Lucian’s house longer, playing outside into the night; this was both of their favorite seasons. But their argument – had it even been an argument? -- had shaken her. 

It was common for Jocelyn to lose her temper, but over small, insignificant things, stupid things. Their conversation earlier had veered into dangerous territory. Those kinds of things should remain unspoken, Jocelyn thought angrily, kicking a stone out of her path. Some Shadowhunter families were different from others. They just were! It wasn’t _Jocelyn’s_ fault. Being a Nephilim from a poor family was better than being a wealthy mundane – that’s what her father had always told her. If you looked at the whole scheme of things, Lucian was still extremely important. And not just important to the people who loved him, but important to the _world_. That had to count for something.

Squinting through the dark at the house before her, Jocelyn came to a sudden halt. The kitchen window was closed. She ran to the cellar window and crouched down, jiggling the lock. It wouldn’t budge. Immediately, a fresh rush of anger crashed over her like an ocean wave. He _locked_ her _out_?! Just because of this? Here she was, walking all this way down here just to apologize, and this is what she gets? 

Soundlessly, Jocelyn surveyed the house, darting around the perimeter several times. It was an ancient building, even for the Idris countryside, and it had probably been considered grand when it was first built. Now, however, its stone walls were weathered and forlorn, windows dark and dingy no matter how often Elisabeth scrubbed at them. Most Nephilim families hired gardeners to keep up with home repairs while the owners travelled… but that was only if you could pay their year-long salary. Jocelyn bit her lip as another twinge of regret spiked through her. She never should’ve said those things out loud.

Jocelyn made her way to the back garden, standing directly underneath Amatis’s bedroom window. It was no use trying to get to Lucian’s room – it would be a more difficult climb on that side, and she ran the risk of him ignoring her, refusing to let her in. At least Amatis wouldn’t leave her dangling off the side of the house, Jocelyn thought as she backed up, boots softly crunching on dry, scattered leaves. She took off at a sprint, leaping off the ground and shakily catching both feet on a large rock that jutted out from the foundation. Her palms were sweating, she noted with annoyance as she flattened her hands against the rocks, trying to find a place to grab hold. Working her fingers into a thin crack, she scrambled sideways, scaling the wall almost parallel to the ground. She must look ridiculous… like the dragonflies she’d seen in the summer, clinging onto a rock in the creek so as not to get tugged into the raging current.

“Jocelyn!” A voice hissed from above.

Fingers trembling as she struggled to hold on, Jocelyn tossed her ponytail back and looked up toward the night sky. The window was open, Amatis’s head poking out, an amused expression on her face.

“Hey,” Jocelyn panted, readjusting her ankle to get a firmer position on one of the rocks below. She had climbed some ten feet off the ground. It wouldn’t be _terrible_ if she fell, but it had only been a few weeks since she’d badly twisted her ankle falling out of that damn tree in front of Robert Lightwood. As much as she didn’t care about what he thought of her, she really didn’t want to have to face him at training tomorrow with another dumb injury. “Can you give me a hand?”

“Sure. Hang on,” Amatis said, ducking back into the room.

“Like I could do anything else,” Jocelyn remarked dryly to herself. 

There was a sound of tugging fabric from inside, then Amatis reemerged in the window, tossing one end of what appeared to be a knotted bedsheet down to Jocelyn.

“Here, grab this.”

“Are you sure you’re strong enough to pull me?” Jocelyn blurted out as she clumsily tied the sheet around her hand, making a fist experimentally.

Amatis didn’t seem hurt. “I guess we’ll find out. Are you holding it tightly?”

“Yes.”

Surprisingly, Amatis kept a firm grip as Jocelyn used the sheet to scale the wall, walking carefully around any outwardly-jutting rocks. When she was at eye-level with the window, she swung her legs upward, pushing her feet through. Amatis dropped the bedsheet to grab her around the waist, lifting the younger girl inside carefully.

“Thanks,” Jocelyn said, wrapping up the sheet and handing to Amatis.

“No problem.” Amatis smirked, carrying the sheet to a laundry bin at the foot of her bed. “So what happened? Did you just have a burning desire to climb something after midnight?” 

“I had a fight with Lucian today,” Jocelyn admitted. “I think he was pretty angry with me, so I was coming over to make sure everything was alright, and he’d locked the window so I couldn’t get in. But I _had_ to get in, so I went to your window because I knew _you’d_ help me--” 

Still grinning, Amatis steered Jocelyn toward the door. “It’s fine, it’s fine. You know these things always get worked out as long as you can get him to talk about it.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

“Plus, I don’t think he locked you out. Which window did you try? The cellar?”

“Yeah…” 

“That window’s been broken for ages. Anyway, he’s been in his room all afternoon. Didn’t even eat dinner. I would’ve heard if he had gone down to the cellar.”

“Oh,” Jocelyn said, cheeks flushing. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make everything about me.”

Amatis laughed. “It’s fine. Most things _are_ about you, so I understand the confusion.”

Jocelyn didn’t answer, distracted as she gazed around Amatis’s room. As often as she’d visited the Graymark house, she hadn’t spent much time in here. It didn’t look like Amatis did either. Everything was immaculate: books arranged by color on a dark wood bookcase, a pristine copy of the Codex and a stele neatly placed on a desk by the window, a family photograph in an ornate and perfectly-polished gold frame. Was she some kind of neat freak? There was no way Elisabeth had time to clean her daughter’s room so carefully, and besides, Lucian’s room was usually a wreck.

“Hey, Jocelyn?” Amatis was clearly deep in thought as well, looking at Jocelyn with an expression she had seen on her face often. It was the careful look of a girl who tiptoed around people, who anticipated rejection, a door slamming in front of her. Usually, Amatis wore this look when she wanted something.

“Yes?”

“I’m going to the Academy soon, and I guess I just… I don’t know, I worry about Lucian. This first month of training has been so hard for him. Mother is really good with him… she doesn’t make him _feel_ like a failure or anything, but…”

“Amatis, you know I’ll always look out for him.”

The older girl smiled, relieved. “You promise?” 

Jocelyn shrugged. “Sometimes I feel like I wasn’t put on earth to do anything else.”

 

* * *

 

 

The door to Lucian’s room opened with a creak when Jocelyn pushed it. Moonlight poured through the window behind his bed, casting a long rectangle of light across the hardwood floor. In the dark, Lucian sat up.

He said nothing as she tiptoed softly around the piles of books on the floor, briskly untying her boots and hopping up onto the bed. She sat cross-legged on his quilt, looking down at him. Cautiously, he smiled.

“ _Whither thou goest, I will go_ ,” Jocelyn whispered, by way of an apology.

“ _Where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried_ ,” he answered.

Reaching through the dark, he hooked his smallest finger through hers. They remained there, two children on the precipice of something so much larger than themselves, washed in silver moonlight, waiting for morning.

 

 


	5. Alicante

**Part II**

_From this day to the ending of the world,_

_But we in it shall be remembered –_

_We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;_

_For he today that sheds his blood with me_

_Shall be my brother._

_-_ William Shakespeare, _Henry V_

* * *

**Chapter Five**

_Four years later_

 

Jocelyn had the same dream several nights in a row before leaving for Alicante.

It was always the same: a shocking light blinding her, throwing the room into blurry shadows. A spinning sensation, like she couldn’t quite get her footing. A voice in her ear – young, female, whispering with a tinge of fear. It was as if someone were desperately trying to wake her up. But when she sprung awake, sitting bolt upright and sweating, her room was cold and empty.

The emptiness should have reassured her, but instead, she felt nothing but alone.

  

* * *

 

The walls of the Alicante Institute were brilliant white, so bright that Jocelyn had to squint into the sun in order to get a good look at the building. A silver spire stretched far into the azure sky, glistening and reflecting light. While the building itself was the purest white stone, the rest of it was glass – wide, arching stained glass depicting what looked like various scenes from Nephilim history. In one picture, a glimmering golden angel rose from a sapphire lake with something clutched in his hand, something Jocelyn couldn’t quite make out.

She gulped, banging her ankle deliberately against one of the leather suitcases that sat at her feet. Not having travelled much, she wasn’t used to having all of her earthly belongings gathered around her in a haphazard pile. Had she forgotten something? It seemed impossible that every possession she had accumulated in sixteen years could fit into four average-sized suitcases.

“Jocelyn?”

She sighed, turning quickly, the cold air stinging her cheeks. Adele stood there, wrapping her heavy gray coat tighter around her body. She frowned down at her daughter.

“Are you ready?” 

Jocelyn felt a sudden burning sensation behind her eyes, a rising lump in her throat. She’d heard those words hundreds, maybe thousands of times, as she stood in her room in a party dress, ready to be presented by her parents: _Are you ready_?

“Where’s Lucian?” she asked, rather than providing an answer.

“I don’t know, darling,” Adele said wearily. “You know Daddy and I want you to be more independent now that you’re getting older.”

“I know,” Jocelyn said with a barely-concealed scowl.

“You can’t constantly be clinging to that boy while you’re here at school, Jocelyn.”

“I said I _know_ , Mother.”

There was a silence as they regarded each other closely, then Adele smiled. “You’ll do a fine job here. My darling daughter… you do know how deeply I believe in you?” 

“Thank you, Mother,” Jocelyn said in a muffled voice as Adele pulled her into a tight hug.

Jocelyn had always considered her mother to be the most glamorous woman in the world; some of her earliest memories consisted of sitting on the wide four-poster bed in her parents’ room and watching her mother prepare for a party, pulling her sleek brown hair into a twisted knot and carefully applying ruby lipstick. The effect was only intensified when Adele changed into gear. She became even more beautiful when the makeup and elegant hair was stripped away, and Jocelyn would watch wide-eyed as her own mother transformed into an absolute pillar of strength. This image often tattooed itself inside her eyelids – a constant reminder of what Jocelyn herself wanted to be. Alicante would make her into that mythical creature, the strongest, most glamorous woman she could possibly be.

If her mother would just _leave her alone_ for two seconds.

“We’ll get you settled in your room, then?” Adele was already gathering up the suitcases, adjusting the two heaviest ones in her arms.

“I can do it by myself,” Jocelyn snapped.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t carry four suitcases by yourself.”

“How do you know if you won’t let me try?”

“Jocelyn, darling, _no one_ can carry four suitcases--”

“I can help her, Adele.”

Jocelyn whirled around so quickly that her braid whipped her in the face. Without hesitation, she leapt toward a sheepish-looking Lucian who stood there with his own suitcase balanced on the cobblestones by his feet. He laughed, catching her in his arms for a brief second before releasing her.

After four years of intensive training, Jocelyn had emerged the stronger of the two, which was not something they ever talked about. Privately Jocelyn assumed that it was due to the differences in their training. Robert was tough on her and had only grown tougher as she’d gotten older, while Elisabeth tended to shelter Lucian. It wasn’t her fault, Jocelyn thought – the Graymarks had been through so much in the past few years.

On the day of Lucian’s father’s funeral, sitting stoically next to her best friend and dressed in pure white, Jocelyn had sworn to look out for him with more care and determination than ever before. He hated being babied, she knew that, but losing a parent at thirteen? He had been even skinnier back then, big blue eyes staring worriedly at the ground as he twined his fingers through Jocelyn’s. Everything about him seemed breakable. And, she worried, their new life could be the thing that would break him.

“Ah, hello Lucian,” Adele said now. Her voice was as stiff as her posture. “I suppose I have nothing to worry about, now that… _you_ are here to take care of my daughter.”

Jocelyn stared at her mother incredulously. Even though Lucian was behind her, she could sense him shifting on the spot, desperately trying to arrange his face into a confident expression. 

“You don’t need to worry about Jocelyn while we’re here, Adele. I will make sure she doesn’t get into any trouble.”

Adele smirked.

“My daughter doesn’t get into trouble, Lucian. Not unless she’s led to it. Now, _where_ is the Consul?” She turned to survey the small crowd of people milling around Rivercrest Street. In profile, she looked regal.

Jocelyn sighed loudly. “Mother, why don’t you go meet up with whomever you want. Lucian and I will go find our rooms.”

“Do whatever you like, darling. I’ll help you get settled in shortly.” And with no further acknowledgement of Lucian’s existence, she swept away. 

Lucian was already fumbling with Jocelyn’s huge leather and gold suitcases. His own, a shabby and somewhat neglected-looking bag, still sat forlornly at his feet.

“By the Angel. What an ice bitch.” Jocelyn kicked one suitcase over onto its side, grabbing another from Lucian to stack on top and carry.

“I’m sorry,” Lucian said guiltily. “I shouldn’t have shown up and offered to help. I know she hates me.”

“She doesn’t _hate_ you--” 

“Jocelyn.”

“No, you didn’t let me finish. She doesn’t hate you because she isn’t capable of feeling any sort of strong emotion beneath her cold, hard, bitter Nephilim exterior.”

Lucian laughed shortly, attempting to disguise it as a cough as he gathered the remaining suitcases. He kicked his own bag along the cobblestones as they walked.

“ _Ooh, darling, why don’t I take you to Alicante today? I’ll do your hair just like when I did when you were little. I’ll make you feel like a steaming load of crap just like I’ve done your whole life_ ,” Jocelyn said, adopting a throaty, singsong voice.

“That’s uncanny,” Lucian remarked.

“And didn’t you just love how she promised to come help me get _settled in_? Please. She wants to socialize. That’s the whole point of even accompanying me in the first place. She could have gone on that trip to Switzerland with my father, but noooo, she has to keep up her stupid appearances.”

“I’m sure that wasn’t the _only_ reason.”

“I wish she would’ve just stayed home like your mother. You’re so lucky.”

The minute the words left her mouth, Jocelyn wanted to leap into the air, grab them, and shove them back in. _Damn it._

Lucian was focused on the white wooden Institute doors up ahead. They had been swung open to reveal a cavernous room, stained glass windows casting colored shadows on the dusty floors.

“Hey… I…” 

“It’s okay,” Lucian said softly.

“No, that was rude. I’m sorry.” Jocelyn bit her lip, adjusting her grip on the stack of suitcases in her arms. “I didn’t mean… I’m sorry your mother couldn’t come with you.”

“It’s not a big deal.” 

“She has a lot of responsibilities. I get that, honestly. Your mother’s really amazing.”

“Jocelyn, it’s really fine. I have Amatis, I have you. Mother said goodbye to me back at home. It’s fine.” 

“Okay,” Jocelyn said. They were crossing the Institute’s threshold now, and she had to blink several times as her vision adjusted to the darkness. 

“Wow… beautiful, huh?” Lucian breathed, setting the bags down. Prior to arrival, they had been instructed to leave their luggage on the first floor so it could be inspected and then brought to their rooms. 

Jocelyn was still watching her best friend carefully. Over the past few years, she’d noticed a change in his attitude toward her. It was small, like the shifting of tectonic plates below the earth, but present nevertheless. She remembered a time when his temper could rival hers, when their fights spanned days, weeks, without either relenting. After his father died so suddenly – a routine trip to France to check up on a Downworlder pack, an attack for which the Clave didn’t seem to be able to offer an explanation --  that had all gradually faded away. He could now let go of things like dust on the wind, like a flame sputtering out. She appreciated the change – it certainly made their lives easier. But it sometimes felt like he was giving in. He was letting her win.

“Jocelyn Fairchild and… Graymark, right?” 

They both turned to see an attractive young man with thick brown hair striding toward them. He was tall and somewhat lanky, an unusual build for a Shadowhunter. Even more unusual was the laidback smile spreading easily across his face. Jocelyn dimly recognized that smile – this was probably a boy her mother had forced her to talk to at some party in the past. They all blurred together. His presence made her feel comfortable, though, so at least he probably wasn’t one of the ones who had tried to kiss her.

“Patrick Penhallow,” he said jovially, extending a hand to Jocelyn and then Lucian. “I’ll be one of your tutors.”

 _Of course_. The Penhallows were one of the oldest and wealthiest Shadowhunter families. Her mother probably had doodled their names together in a heart on a piece of paper.

“Lucian Graymark.”

“Of course! Hello, Lucian. You two are best friends, right?”

“Uh… yes,” Jocelyn said, caught off guard.

Patrick chuckled. “Don’t worry, I haven’t been spying on you. It was in your file.” 

“Our what?” Lucian asked.

“All the instructors here at the Academy received files about you kids earlier in the summer. Don’t worry!” He laughed as expressions of horror sprung up on Jocelyn and Lucian’s faces. “Nothing bad. Just basic information… you know, names, birthdays, strengths, weaknesses, who your friends are. The Clave wants us to know who’s likely to pair off with whom, I suppose.” 

At these words, Lucian looked strangely pale.

“It’s nice to see you again,” Jocelyn said with a polite smile.

“Same to you, Jocelyn. Now, I’ll give you a hand with these bags – you’ll be staying on the second floor. Lucian…” Patrick scanned the entranceway, which was quickly filling up. He caught the eye of a blond boy who looked to be about his age and gestured him over. “Stephen can help with yours.”

“Oh, well…” Lucian’s gaze drifted downward. “I don’t… I mean, I just have the one bag. I don’t need any help.”

Patrick blinked once before breaking into a grin that effectively covered every inch of surprise and pity. “That’s fine! Stephen will show you where to put your bag. C’mon Jocelyn, let’s go upstairs.”

“Hey,” Lucian said quietly as Jocelyn turned to follow Patrick. “We can talk later, right? I want to--”

“Yes, of course we can!” Jocelyn waved over her shoulder, entirely focused on the two suitcases clenched in her fists and the grand staircase unfurling before her.

 

* * *

 

For every bright, sunny, eye-crinkling Patrick Penhallow smile Jocelyn received over the next hour, she earned one icy glare from her new roommate.

The girl was beautiful… Jocelyn had to give her that, somewhat begrudgingly. Her hair hung around her shoulders like a sleek dark curtain framing her porcelain-white face. And while it wasn’t unusual that she was clad head to toe in black, the actual clothes she wore were baffling. The shoulders of her blouse were puffy and she wore a _skirt_ – an actual skirt, to her first day of training – that was laced with bits of silver. It clung high on her waist before billowing around her hips like a cloud. Patrick, bounding around the room like a golden retriever while helping Jocelyn unpack, seemed afraid to look at her.

Jocelyn thought wistfully of Lucian, relaxing in his private room. According to Patrick, there were an odd number of boys this year, so Lucian didn’t get a roommate. Even though it wasn’t his fault, she planned to give him hell for it later. 

“So today is basically a free day,” Patrick explained. “Unpack, get to know each other, bond…”

“But we’ve bonded so well already,” Jocelyn muttered, watching the weird girl out of the corner of her eye.

“So there’s a feast tonight downstairs,” Patrick continued obliviously. “You’ll find the dining room with no issue, it’s right off the atrium. Big, glowy chandelier. You’ll love it. Dinner is always the best on the first night… Ezra will be trying to impress all of you. Seven o’clock exactly, all right? You don’t want to be late. Once Robert and Stephen get to the food, nobody else stands a chance.”

“I’ll be there.” 

Weird girl remained silent.

“See you then!” Patrick was already racing out the door, probably in the direction of a great deal of shouting that was happening down the corridor. 

Jocelyn leaned back against her four-poster bed, sighing heavily. The sigh seemed to echo throughout the room. “So.”

More silence. 

“I don’t think Patrick mentioned your name,” Jocelyn said tightly, harkening back to the years of etiquette rules her mother had drummed into her head. “I’m Jocelyn.”

“Maryse.”

Her voice wasn’t what Jocelyn had expected. It was quiet, almost quivering. Great. So she was a beautiful weakling.

“Is this your first year here too?”

Maryse hesitated for a moment, looking around the room as if hoping an emergency exit would appear. “No.”

“Ooookay.” Jocelyn puffed out her cheeks, swinging her arms back and forth. “Well. If that’s all you feel like saying, I’m gonna run.”

Without making a sound, Maryse sat down on her bed, running a hand along the black velvety comforter. It looked like it was hemmed in gold; as she smoothed the surface, it glittered in the light pouring in from one of the wide windows along the stone wall.

“So I’ll see you at dinner then.” 

“Where are you going?” Maryse asked. Jocelyn, who had been edging toward the door, stopped, startled. 

“My best friend, Lucian… he’s moving in upstairs. I thought I’d check in with him.”

“Oh.” Maryse’s gaze dropped back to the bedspread.

“Did you… like, want me to stay?”

“No,” she said quickly. “My mother and father are getting the rest of my things.”

 _How nice for you_. Jocelyn had had enough.

“Well, have fun with them,” she said, now entirely outside the room. She let the wooden door fall shut with a bang.

  

* * *

 

 

“You would not _believe_.” Jocelyn let the word drag on for several syllables. “Picture the creepiest thing you’ve ever seen--”

“Not a good suggestion for someone who regularly reads books on demon lore,” Lucian said with a smile, shoving a stack of t-shirts onto a shelf above his new four-poster bed.

“Okay, so picture one of those demons, and then picture it with waist-long hair and giant blue eyes and the most miserable expression of any living creature. Are you picturing it?”

“I’m trying.” 

“Well, that’s my damn roommate.”

Lucian snorted. “What are you doing?”

“Making my bed.” Jocelyn had grabbed two jackets out of Lucian’s suitcase and was arranging them neatly on the hardwood floor. “I’m not sharing a room with her. She probably sleeps with a dagger under her pillow and drinks the blood of kittens.”

“Jocelyn, what the hell--”

She let her hair fall in front of her eyes, adopting a somber expression. “Hello, Lucian. I’m your new roommate. I just crawled out of my own grave.”

Laughing, Lucian tossed a balled-up sweatshirt in her direction. It missed by about a foot.

“If she’s in the Institute, she’s not a vampire, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“True.” Jocelyn crossed her legs, wrapping the heavier woolen jacket around her shoulders. The Institute was beautiful, but even during a late summer day it was _freezing_ cold. “So what are we going to do until dinner?”

“You’re not going to say goodbye to your mother?”

Jocelyn shot him a withering look. “She’s already gone.”

“Did you actually see her leave?”

“I didn’t need to. I sensed the cloud of darkness dissipate.”

“Oh, come on.” 

“Can we go find Amatis?”

Lucian paused, clearly deciding whether it was worth the time and energy to force Jocelyn to say goodbye to her mother. Finally, he let out a world-weary sigh.

“Fine, we’ll go see Amatis. But can I talk to--”

“Yes!” Jocelyn shouted, jumping up and letting the coat fall to the floor in a puddle. “I’m already tired of being cooped up in here. Let’s go, let’s go!”

“Jocelyn, wait.”

She turned, reaching behind her head to undo the braid her mother had carefully arranged that morning.

Lucian stood slightly tensely in the middle of the room, looking like he was trying to remember something he’d known years ago. He _had_ been particularly strange today, Jocelyn mused, wrestling with her knotted hair. But before she could verbally question this strangeness, Amatis came bounding in through the bedroom door.

“Lucian!” she exclaimed, wrapping her younger brother in a tight hug. His face wasn’t even visible past Amatis’s mane of messy brown hair. “Joss, hi! I thought I heard you say my name?”

“Yes, I really wanted to see you!” Jocelyn said happily as Amatis yanked her into a hug. Their little family was intact again, if only for a short while.

Amatis and Lucian’s father had died a few months after Amatis had moved to Alicante to begin her official training, and although Jocelyn had seen her a handful of times since then, it hadn’t been nearly enough. She was the closest thing to a sister that Jocelyn had. Over the past three years, she had grown taller and thinner, but other than that, she was the same. Amatis was now nineteen, old enough to be traveling on her own and visiting other Institutes. But she didn’t. Jocelyn suspected it had to do with the family’s lack of funds and Amatis’s concern for Lucian; although she didn’t venture out to the countryside often, she must have felt more secure in Idris than she would have in France or Spain. Although she hadn’t been officially designated by the Clave, she had taken it upon herself to spend the year living in the Institute and helping tutor the younger Shadowhunters.

Immediately, Jocelyn launched into a tirade about her roommate. Amatis laughed appreciatively while Lucian puttered around the room unpacking; he seemed to have brought more books than clothes. 

“There are some interesting people here. You’ll see… they’re as strange as they come.”

“What do you mean?” Jocelyn asked with great interest, resuming her position on the floor. 

“Oh, you’ll see.” Amatis bit her lip, scanning the room as through looking for intruders, before continuing in a hushed voice. “Celine Montclaire… you’ll notice her right away, she’s beautiful… she’s only fifteen, but she’s been here at the Institute since my first year.”

“What? You can move here when you’re that young?” 

Amatis shrugged. “In special circumstances.”

“By ‘special,’ I’m guessing you don’t mean ‘good,” Lucian said darkly. 

“She’s a sweetheart,” Amatis said, frowning. “Fragile. Be nice to her when you meet her. Oh, and there’s a boy back for his second year, Valentine…”

Jocelyn snorted. “That’s his _name_?”

“Yes. Valentine Morgenstern.”

“Wow, what’d he do to deserve that?”

Amatis ran a hand through her tangled hair somewhat nervously. “You’d understand… well, you _will_ understand when you meet him. He’s another one to be careful with, both of you. Don’t try to play any tricks on him.”

Lucian held both his hands up, laughing. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”

“True. Jocelyn, don’t mess with him, I mean it.”

“I think I can handle some twat named Valentine,” Jocelyn grinned. “I guess we’ll meet them all at dinner tonight, huh?”

“It should be interesting,” Amatis agreed.

Lucian dumped the last of his books into a dresser drawer, leaning against it in exhaustion. “I have a feeling this whole _year_ is going to be interesting.”

 

 

 


	6. Destined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, after about a million years, I am BACK! I’m so sorry for the long absence – I’ve been pretty intensely drafting this story, making sure it’ll fit into CoHF canon, and I finally have it all worked out. (If you read CoHF carefully, you’ll see that I’ve already written myself into at least one corner, but never fear, I’m gonna work my way out, haha.) You’ll notice that the chapters will start getting longer now that we’re really getting into canon stuff. Thank you guys so much for your patience! Leave a review if you’d like, and if you ever have any questions, my askbox on Tumblr (isabelllelightwood) is always open!

* * *

 

Jocelyn’s mother had always referred to the period of time between twilight and nightfall as “the blue hour.” Over the years, it had become Jocelyn’s favorite time of day or night, the time when she felt most awake and alive. Light of a pure cerulean fell over the practice yard where she sat with Amatis and Lucian, casting dark shadows over their familiar faces. She longed to run back up to her room and grab the colored pencils Lucian had given her for her birthday; the evening was so beautiful it seemed a waste not to save it.

The practice yard was a giant grassy rectangle situated directly in the center of the Alicante Institute. Scattered amongst the soft grass were stone benches, one of which Amatis was sitting on, surveying the other young Shadowhunters who were milling around. They were all shielded from the outside world by the surrounding stone walls cut here and there with carved, open doorways which led to open-air hallways. Jocelyn sat on the ground twisting a blade of grass around one finger. Ever since they were children, Lucian had been trying to teach her how to blow on them to make a whistling sound, but she’d never quite mastered it.

“You both should try and make more friends, okay?” Amatis was saying. “Will you at least promise me that you’ll try?”

“I don’t _need_ any more friends,” Jocelyn said, forcefully blowing on a blade of grass. No sound came out. “I have Lucian.”

Lucian grinned, either at her words or her lack of skill with the grass -- Jocelyn figured it was probably a mix of both.

“So stubborn,” Amatis sighed, but she was smiling. She nodded toward someone in the distance. “Look, over there… that’s the girl I was telling you about. Celine Montclaire.”

Jocelyn turned carefully, trying not to look obvious. A skinny and extremely beautiful girl with long blonde hair pulled over one shoulder was sitting under a tree in the far corner of the field. She held herself carefully, like she was trying to disappear.

“Who’s that talking to her? The Herondale boy, right?”

“Yes, that’s Stephen,” Amatis said. “He’s one of the tutors this year, I think. He just got back from the Athens Institute.”

“Wow,” Lucian said, quietly impressed. 

“And over there--” Amatis started to say, pointing subtly toward a tall girl several yards away, but Jocelyn interrupted.

“Oh no. Lucian, we know her, that’s…”

The girl looked up at that exact moment, meeting Jocelyn’s eyes. It was the girl from Jocelyn and Lucian’s Marking.

“What’s wrong?” Amatis asked, amused by the expression on Jocelyn’s face.

“Joss doesn’t like her.”

“Why not?”

“That’s a great question,” Lucian said. He turned to Jocelyn, tilting his head with mock curiosity, clearly trying not to laugh.

“She’s just a know-it-all, okay? Totally full of herself. Oh, I can’t _believe_ she’s here, I bet she’s going to be trying to compete with me all the time--”

“Do you even remember her name?”

Jocelyn opened her mouth, then promptly snapped it shut. Of course she didn’t remember.

“Her name’s Madeleine,” Lucian informed Amatis. At that exact moment, Madeleine, who was scanning the crowd, caught sight of them and began making her way toward them. 

“Oh great, Lucian!” Jocelyn whined. “Now she’s coming over here!”

“How is that _my_ fault?” Lucian laughed. “What’d I do, send a telepathic message?”

Before Jocelyn could respond, Amatis gasped sharply; Madeleine had nearly collided with another student. It was a boy Jocelyn hadn’t noticed before. He was quite tall with a head full of thick, silvery blonde hair, and in the dim twilight, his face looked as though it were carved from porcelain. Nervously, Madeleine ducked out of his way. Jocelyn couldn’t blame her. The boy had a commanding presence, and as Madeleine hurried away, his eyes followed her closely. His gaze passed swiftly over Amatis and Lucian, landing on Jocelyn.

It was as though someone had dropped a chunk of ice down the back of her dress. Even across the practice yard, Jocelyn noticed the darkness of his eyes, a striking feature in a face so pale and cold. She felt like he could see into her soul. Goosebumps rippled across her bare arms.

“Amatis, who--” Jocelyn began, turning away, but before she could finish, Madeleine had plopped down on the bench next to Amatis, greeting them warmly. 

When she looked back, the boy was gone.

 

* * *

 

The Academy’s dining hall was large but welcoming, nothing like the antiquated room at Fairchild Manor where Jocelyn’s parents held formal dinner parties. Two long tables of a dark red wood filled the room, each set with a great deal of elaborate china and golden water goblets. A fireplace was blazing in the corner, filling the room with much-needed warmth; without it, Jocelyn thought it would have been freezing. All these stone buildings in Alicante were clearly not built with comfort in mind. Even the fireplace itself was stone. Etched calligraphic letters swirled across the mantel forming a quote Jocelyn knew well: _Pulvis et umbra sumus._ We are dust and shadows.

Jocelyn seized Lucian’s sleeve reflexively and tugged him toward the table closest to the fire. They sat together near the end of one table while Amatis and Madeleine took seats across from them. Already they were deep in conversation, and Jocelyn sighed to herself. Amatis was quiet, even reserved, but never seemed to have trouble making friends.

The room was filled with the chatter of voices and the scraping of wooden chairs against the stone floor as students greeted each other excitedly, swapping seats and shaking hands. Everyone seemed to know someone else. Most of them looked vaguely familiar to Jocelyn; these were the children who had been born and raised in Alicante or the countryside. There was Robert Lightwood, laughing with Michael Wayland, whom she knew to be his _parabatai_. She caught his eye and waved vigorously in his direction, sticking out her tongue. He pretended not to notice.

At that moment, a hushed silence fell upon in the group in a wave that seemed to start at the back of the room and ripple toward the front. Jocelyn and Lucian turned in unison. A young woman had entered the room, and though she did not look particularly intimidating, there was something about her that could clearly command the attention of an entire room. She wore her strawberry blonde hair in a long ponytail and regarded the group with surprisingly warm brown eyes, smiling serenely. Although the woman couldn’t have been more than 25 or 26, she struck Jocelyn as distinctly motherly. With a pang, she thought of Elisabeth Graymark, wishing she had accompanied Lucian to the Academy.

“Welcome, everyone,” the woman said. Her voice was clear and bright, almost musical. “For those of you who don’t know me, I am Eleanor Rosewater, head tutor of the Shadowhunter Academy.”

There was a burst of applause from both tables. Eleanor was clearly well-liked, or at least respected, Jocelyn decided.

“Thank you,” Eleanor said, inclining her head politely and smiling. “It’s so wonderful to see you all here again! And, of course, there are some new faces in our midst. Our sixteen-year-olds: Madeleine Bellefleur, Jocelyn Fairchild, Lucian Graymark, and Roger Starkweather. Please do your best to make them feel welcome. For the fall, we are also privileged to welcome back two Academy alumni, Amatis Graymark and Michael Wayland, who will be assisting with lessons.”

Amatis was staring down at her lap, clearly embarrassed at the attention. Michael, on the other hand, was looking around the room cheerfully.

“And finally, we have three tutors back from their recent travels: Stephen Herondale, returning to us from Athens; Robert Lightwood--”

Jocelyn catcalled loudly, causing Lucian and Amatis to giggle and nearly every other student to stare at her with admiration. Robert looked irritated.

“--back from his visit to Buenos Aires,” Eleanor continued, but the corners of her mouth were twitching, “and Patrick Penhallow, returning from Los Angeles. You will all be meeting with them at some point, and I encourage you all to make connections. There is much to be learned from your Nephilim elders.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. Like she’d ever learned anything from Robert. 

“I hope you will all enjoy dinner this evening, which--”

There was a noise from the other table. Eleanor blinked, caught off guard.

“Yes, Mr. Morgenstern?”

Everyone at Jocelyn’s table craned their necks to see who had interrupted Eleanor; the Morgenstern name was one of the most revered in Nephilim society. Jocelyn wasn’t surprised to see that creepily serious blonde boy from the practice yard reaching for his water goblet.

“Excuse me, Eleanor, but I wondered if I might make a welcome toast.”

Eleanor sighed good-naturedly. “Get on with it, but don’t take all evening. We don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Hear, hear!” Stephen Herondale called.

The Morgenstern boy had gotten to his feet, holding his goblet like a torch. Hadn’t Amatis mentioned a Morgenstern earlier? She definitely had… it was a really strange name…

“For those who don’t know me, I am Valentine Morgenstern,” he said. _Valentine_ , that’s right, Jocelyn remembered. “I came to the Academy a year ago, at age sixteen, to continue my studies. The experience has been invaluable, and I would like to extend the warmest of welcomes to the new students.”

He nodded in the direction of Jocelyn’s table, his gaze flickering over each of them in turn.

“I look forward to training and fighting by your side, each one of you. If any are interested -- and this includes returning students -- I would encourage everyone to meet me in the practice yard after dinner. It is imperative that we all get to know one another, as we’ll be working so closely together in the future.” He raised the goblet even higher. “ _Aequari pavet alta minori_.” 

Valentine looked around expectantly. Surely everyone understood the quotation, but no one seemed to want to answer. 

“ _A lofty man fears being made equal with a lower_ ,” Jocelyn said drily.

Valentine nodded as everyone drunk from their goblets, raising his eyebrows. “Indeed.”

He took a long sip of his drink, eyes never leaving hers. 

“Thank you, Valentine,” Eleanor called over the now-buzzing dining hall. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on his speech. “Dinner is served!”

The ornate wooden doors at the end of the room, which Jocelyn assumed must lead to the kitchen, swung open, and several members of the Academy’s waitstaff bustled through, carrying platters of delicious-smelling food.

“That Valentine Morgenstern is a piece of work, huh?” Jocelyn said to their table at large, not bothering to keep her voice down.

“He’s something,” Amatis said weakly.

 

* * *

 

Only a handful of students actually showed up in the practice yard after dinner. Valentine was there, of course, looking quite pleased with himself and flanked by a laughing Stephen Herondale and a bored-looking Robert Lightwood. Beautiful little Celine was there with two friends who Jocelyn now knew to be Bianca and Kiva, _parabatai_ who had grown up together in Alicante. The three girls sat in the grass a respectable distance from Valentine and Stephen, giggling and chatting quietly. As she, Lucian, and Amatis neared the group, Michael Wayland came zooming past them, making a beeline for Robert.

“Not a great turnout,” Lucian said quietly, scanning the small crowd.

“Well, most people know Valentine,” Amatis responded. “They’d be wary of showing up. Maybe Madeleine had the right idea, we should probably just…”

“We’re not hiding in our rooms,” Jocelyn said in exasperation. “I’m not sitting around while exciting things happen to other people.” 

“Whatever.” Amatis rolled her eyes, but Jocelyn knew her well enough to know she wasn’t annoyed. She would tag along with whatever plot her little brother and his best friend thought up.

Valentine seemed pleased enough with the assembled group. He held up a hand in a welcoming gesture, stepping forward dramatically into a pool of moonlight.

“Fellow students, tutors, compatriots…” he began loudly.

“Friends, Romans, countrymen…” Jocelyn said under her breath. Amatis giggled.

“...pleased to see you’ve all decided to join me this evening,” Valentine was saying. He moved forward to Celine, who shrank back nervously; a kind smile spread across his face and he extended a hand.

“Celine Montclaire,” he said, in a soft voice just for her benefit. Whatever he said next was so quiet Jocelyn couldn’t make it out, but she noticed Celine growing more relaxed. She thought of the stories she and Lucian had read about vampires about their power of _encanto_ , a kind of persuasion. Supposedly, the oldest vampires could use this power to get anyone, mundane or Shadowhunter, to say or do anything. She knew Valentine Morgenstern couldn’t be a vampire, but whatever persuasive skill he had was eerily similar.

He was moving around the yard now, introducing himself quietly to each student in turn. Amatis shook his hand calmly; she seemed determined not to look away, and Jocelyn felt a surge of pride. Lucian was next. He stood close enough to Jocelyn, their elbows bumping together, that she could hear Valentine’s every word.

“Lucian Graymark, correct? Amatis’s brother?”

Lucian nodded rigidly.

“I see the resemblance,” Valentine said kindly. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucian.”

“The same to you.”

“And this young woman must be…” 

“Jocelyn Fairchild.” She shook his hand reluctantly; it felt like touching a cool marble statue. Their eyes met once again and he smiled so widely his pure white teeth seemed to glitter.

“A remarkable family, the Fairchilds,” Valentine said. “It’s an honor to meet you, Jocelyn.”

There was something distinctly predatory in the way he said her name that didn’t quite sit right with her. Lucian seemed to notice it as well. He moved even closer to Jocelyn, bumping his wrist reassuringly against hers. For some reason, Valentine turned to smile at Lucian once more before moving on.

“You’re all likely wondering why I requested this meeting,” Valentine called, stepping away from Jocelyn to address the group. “I know we are all exhausted, so I will make this brief: I’m interested in forming a sort of… society of progressive young Shadowhunters.”

“Like a study group?” Kiva piped up.

“Essentially, yes. I think it would be highly beneficial for all of us students to meet and share strategies that other closed-minded students may not understand.”

“What do you mean, closed-minded?” Jocelyn asked indignantly.

“Well, Jocelyn, since you asked so nicely,” Valentine said with a vague approximation of a good-natured chuckle. “I am selective about the people around me, the Nephilim who I will welcome into this progressive society. I will take only the best, and I, along with Robert and Stephen here, have devised a way to decide who the best will be.”

Stephen, standing slightly to Valentine’s left, was grinning jovially as though he were at a party. Meanwhile, Robert was frowning and looking slightly tense. Jocelyn knew that look from their training sessions. It had a tendency to show up when she was being particularly rambunctious and annoying.

“I’ll go first!” Bianca spoke up boldly, stepping forward.

Valentine smiled. “Thank you for your enthusiasm, Bianca, but I had something else in mind for this evening. Jocelyn?”

Jocelyn grimaced, unsurprised. “Yes?”

“Because you spoke up so passionately during my address, I would like to present a challenge to you.”

“Go for it.”

His eyes seemed to flash in the dark. “Break into the weapons shop on Flintlock Street.”

Everyone gasped, clearly impressed by the dramatics, but Jocelyn frowned.

“What is _that_ supposed to achieve? That I can pick a lock? Break glass?”

Valentine smiled, but it was icy, so different from the charm he used on the others. _He knows he has to work harder for me_ , Jocelyn realized. “You don’t _have_ to do it, Jocelyn.”

Lucian groaned. He, of all people, knew this was the kiss of death.

“Fine. I’ll be right back,” Jocelyn said, turning on her heel and flouncing off the practice field, down the front hallway, and out through the front gates of the Academy. 

She hadn’t been walking long when it dawned on her: she had absolutely no weapons. After all, she was dressed for a dinner, in a plain black off-shoulder dress and black ballet slippers. Of course, her stele was tucked into the pocket of her sweater… she hadn’t let it out of her sight in years. In one brisk movement, she whipped it out, twirling it nervously through her fingers. She wished she’d thought to bring witchlight. The streets were illuminated, but not well. 

It didn’t take her long to reach Flintlock Street. She had always been fast, especially when there was something on her mind propelling her forward, and tonight the thoughts were flying through her mind so quickly she could barely focus on the ground beneath her feet. In fact, she was moving at such a rapid clip that were it not for her years of training, she might not have seen the woman in the shadows at all.

But there she was, as if she’d been waiting.

“Hello?” Jocelyn called.

The woman stepped out of the shadows and Jocelyn noted with a shudder that the irises of her eyes were a bright silver, standing out in the darkness like _adamas_. A warlock. It wasn’t like Jocelyn had never seen a warlock before -- the infamous Ragnor Fell had been a close family friend of the Fairchilds for as long as she could remember -- but she’d certainly never come across one while wandering through a city street at night. 

“Good evening, young lady,” the warlock woman greeted her, beckoning her forward. “May I ask what such a pretty young girl is doing out on her own at this time of night?”

“I had… an errand to run,” Jocelyn said steadily, trying to drum up some of her mother’s icy indifference.

The warlock woman didn’t answer, but merely dramatically drew a stack of what looked like playing cards from her pocket. She shuffled them a few times, regarding Jocelyn with intense interest. After a few moments, the warlock held out the deck toward Jocelyn.

“Choose a card.”

Jocelyn looked down, confused. “A what?”

The warlock chuckled. “They’re called tarot cards, dear. A bit of a mundane trick, but like most magic, they hold truth.”

“What do they do?” 

“Reveal,” the warlock said unhelpfully, holding the fanned-out deck of cards closer to Jocelyn’s face.

“Oh, whatever,” Jocelyn sighed, reaching out and tapping the first card she sees. “That one. May I go?”

“Do you believe in destiny?” the female warlock asked. 

“I really hate when people answer questions with questions,” Jocelyn muttered to herself, turning on her heel and retreating down the street, trying to clear her mind. She would _not_ go back to the Academy without some kind of proof that she’d completed Valentine’s dumb task. Valentine Morgenstern might be crazy, but she wasn’t about to damage her reputation on her first day in Alicante. The Fairchild name rested solely on her shoulders.

“Jocelyn!” the raspy voice called.

She jumped, startled, then turned slowly. The warlock was still staring intently at her. 

“Do you believe in destiny?” she asked again.

“Well…”

“You _do_ have an important one. Oh, very important indeed.” The warlock stared at a card in her hand, presumably the one Jocelyn had selected. She shuffled through the deck of cards with her other hand as Jocelyn took a few curious steps back in her direction.

“I don’t know if I believe in destiny,” she said finally. “I think you make your own luck. _I am the captain of my soul_ and all that.”

The warlock raised an eyebrow, silver eyes glinting. “ _Invictus._ Very impressive. You are in training at the school, I assume?” She gestured vaguely toward the Academy’s spire, gleaming high above the city in the moonlight.

“Yes.”

“But you confuse destiny for luck, my child. Some people are bestowed with destinies that could be considered very unlucky.” She eyed the girl with a look so intense that Jocelyn felt tempted to slink back into the shadows. “Very unlucky indeed.”

“Unluckiness doesn’t scare me,” Jocelyn said, drawing herself up to her full height. “I’m a Shadowhunter.” 

The woman smiled indulgently. “That you are, Miss Fairchild. A daughter of heaven, condemned to a warrior’s life on Earth. And yet…”

She paused for so long, flipping through those ridiculous cards, that Jocelyn grew agitated. “And yet what?”

“I do not see a Shadowhunter’s life among these cards.”

Jocelyn blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

The warlock did not repeat herself, but merely flipped the cards over so that they faced Jocelyn. Their carefully painted symbols meant nothing to her. She stared at them for a few moments, trying to see what this woman saw, and then tore herself away in frustration.

“But I’m tough! I’m strong!” Jocelyn cringed at the whining, childlike tone of her voice. She cleared her throat, determined to sound mature and in control. “I’m the strongest girl at the Academy! I was trained by Robert Lightwood, he’ll tell you--”

“Oh, strength, yes, yes,” The woman said immediately, waving one hand almost carelessly. “Did I ever say you were not strong?”

“You said you didn’t see a Shadowhunter’s--”

“Fighting demons is not the only way to show strength.” Her voice was suddenly harsh. “You would do well to remember this, for it shall aid you in the future. You are tremendously strong in many ways, Jocelyn Fairchild. It is this strength that determines your destiny.”

“Well, then what’s my destiny?” Jocelyn spat.

The woman’s voice suddenly became clear and intensely focused, every word enunciated. “You are a lover, Jocelyn Fairchild, more than you are a fighter. The passion you feel and the secrets you keep about the ones you love will drive you into battle. You must choose. Choose to fight, and you will never love. But choose to love, and you will never stop fighting.”

 

* * *

  

Jocelyn was so rattled by her meeting with the warlock that she walked back to the Academy in a fog, all thoughts of Valentine’s challenge wiped from her mind. The words pounded like a hammer through her skull: _I do not see a Shadowhunter’s life among these cards_. Well, what did _she_ know, anyway? Some warlock skulking around the street using mundane tricks to scare her… didn’t she _know_ who the Fairchilds were?

As she crossed into the practice yard, feet pounding the grass on autopilot, she realized the entire group was still gathered there. They were silent as the City of Bones. It was as if they’d been chattering noisily, waiting for her return, until the very moment she’d stepped out of the shadows. 

_Well, shit._

“What happened?” Valentine asked. “You didn’t do it, did you?”

To Jocelyn’s surprise, his words were not patronizing. He was actually smiling. His hair looked shockingly white in the moonlight.

“No.” Jocelyn forced herself to add a casual shrug. “I got kind of… cornered by this warlock on my way there.”

Several people gasped. 

“Really?” Celine leaned forward, gold hair cascading around her shoulders. Jocelyn swore she saw a flicker of surprise in Valentine’s eyes before she tore her gaze away from him, focusing on the small girl in front of her. She was so tiny, almost birdlike in her bone structure. “Jocelyn, weren’t you so scared?”

“Shadowhunters don’t get scared,” she told Celine in an almost patronizingly slow voice. She knelt down, hands on her knees. “Even if you think something’s going to be frightening, you just push it back. That’s the secret. If you learn how to do that, you’ll be fine.” 

“What happened, Jocelyn?” Amatis asked, echoing Valentine’s words. 

“Honestly, nothing really happened. She was just… doing something with cards. Trying to predict the future or something.”

Valentine let out a derisive snort, walking closer to her. 

“A typical mundane trick, pretending that images and objects hold any sort of clue to the future. The _future_ ,” he said loudly, turning so all could hear, “is written by those who choose to take a stand. Those who do not sit idly by, but stride forward into the light.” 

Jocelyn noticed that the other students were looking at him strangely now, as if each of them had been hit over the head and momentarily stunned. Even Lucian and Amatis, from their spot at the fringe of the group, wore interested expressions. The students had formed a loose half-circle around Valentine now as he continued to speak.

“What Jocelyn faced tonight is an indication of the future we face. _Downworlders_.” He paused for dramatic effect. “In _Idris._ Walking the streets we walk, though no angel blood runs in their veins. This, surely, is not what Raziel intended. Idris is an oasis for us, a warded space for Nephilim amongst their own. 

“Indeed, Jocelyn should be commended for her bravery tonight.” Valentine turned, extending a hand toward Jocelyn. She did not take it. He hardly seemed to care, turning the gesture into an open-handed point as though he were physically drawing the eyes of the group toward her. “It is a challenge, a burden, for Nephilim to be forced to interact with a lesser species.”

People in the group were nodding; Celine even applauded lightly.

“Oh, come on,” Lucian spoke up, and Jocelyn whirled around to face him. “It’s not like she got attacked or anything. It sounds like she just ran into some fortune-telling warlock. That’s not dangerous.” 

Jocelyn shot him a look which she hoped adequately communicated a mixture of “thank you” and “shut up, don’t piss off the crazy guy.” But Valentine’s gaze slid serenely from Jocelyn to Lucian, a small smile quirking his lips. 

“Cut from the same cloth, I see,” he said, and slowly, the smile grew wider. “It’s a wonder you two are not yet _parabatai_.” 

The two boys stared at each other for longer than Jocelyn thought the exchange warranted. Other people in the group seemed confused as well; as she looked around, Jocelyn noticed that Celine was migrating over to confer with her two friends, and Robert and Stephen didn’t even seem to be paying attention at all, chatting quietly with Michael.

“Everyone!” Valentine called, and the group instantly fell silent. “I thank you all for meeting with me tonight. I’m sure we will all reconvene in the days to come.” 

That was the last straw for Jocelyn, who flounced over to Lucian and Amatis, grabbing them both roughly by the arm. “Come on, guys, let’s go.”

“Weird, right?” Amatis hissed as Jocelyn dragged them from the practice yard. “You see what I mean?”

“He’s a little…” Lucian trailed off, apparently not sure of the right word. He tapped the side of his head.

“I don’t think all the iratzes in the world could fix his brain damage,” Jocelyn snorted. “What’d he do, fall off a building during training or something?”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Jocelyn, let go, you’re hurting me,” Lucian said, prying his arm out from under her grip.

She flexed her fingers. “Sorry. I’m just filled with pent-up rage.”

“When aren’t you?”

“Ha ha.”

“Seriously, you guys, I think this is really worrying,” Amatis cut into their teasing, knowing it could last hours. “We’re supposed to be getting trained. We don’t need some power-crazed zealot running around daring us to do dangerous things and going on anti-Downworlder rants.”

“That rant _was_ weird,” Jocelyn agreed as they reached one of the many staircases that lead to the dormitories. “What was with that whole thing about _the future is written by those who choose to take a stand_? Didn’t somebody else say that?”

“Not really,” said Lucian. “Winston Churchill said something like it. _History is written by the victors._ ” 

“Basically the same thing,” Jocelyn said with a wave of her hand; she didn’t like it when Lucian could identify a quotation faster than she could. “Whatever he meant, I think we can agree that he’s crazy.” 

“It’s worrying,” Amatis repeated, biting her lip. They had reached the dormitories now, and though it was closing in on midnight, it didn’t sound like anyone was sleeping. Doors were slamming and people were laughing, darting in and out of rooms. Hodge Starkweather was sitting on the gray stone floor, silently reading what looked like an old textbook.

“Hey, don’t worry. I can take him.” Jocelyn grinned, pulling her stele from her pocket and twirling it around. “And I’ll start by iratze-ing that creepy smile off his face.”

They both laughed, and when Amatis turned to head toward her bedroom, Jocelyn jumped forward to hug Lucian, smashing her face into his glasses.

“Ouch,” he said, but didn’t push her away. “You _always_ do that.”

“Sorry.” She pulled back, ruffled his hair, and then stepped back to survey him, lowering the pitch of her voice comically. “Goodnight, Lucian. I am sure we will reconvene in the days to come.” 

“Get out of here,” he said, cackling. She was halfway inside her own room by the time he composed himself and said, softly, “goodnight, Joss.”

 

 


	7. Shadows

Jocelyn had never felt more alive that she did in Alicante. Every morning she woke up with the sun and dressed in her loose-fitting training clothes, being careful not to wake Maryse as she darted around the semi-darkened room. Then she would meet up with Lucian in the hallway and the two would go jogging through the city as the sun rose. Lucian wasn’t the strongest student at the Academy, but he had always been a fast runner. Together, they ran along the canals, past the gates to the Gard, up and down the steps of Accords Hall.

The air was always crisp and cool and fresh in the mornings. It sometimes bordered on hot, especially when they had been running for awhile; once, on a whim, Jocelyn had cut across Angel Square and leapt into the fountain underneath Raziel’s statue. Lucian had called her name, racing after her, but Jocelyn had just laughed - it was early enough that most people wouldn’t be awake. The water was almost icy, like diving headfirst into a snowdrift. When she stood up, her silky clothes clung to her body, soaking wet hair hanging down her back in tendrils. Lucian stared at her with a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn’t quite place, and then they’d raced back to the Academy before they could be caught.

After their first week in Alicante, all of the students had been evaluated and placed into groups. Lucian was under Stephen Herondale’s tutelage, and to add insult to injury, Amatis was also assigned to that particular group. Jocelyn, along with Maryse, Madeleine, and Valentine Morgenstern, was placed into a class taught by Eleanor. 

“I won’t even get to see you at _all?”_ Jocelyn had wailed indignantly, standing in front of the great wooden doors to the Library where the lists of class assignments had been posted.

“It’s okay, Joss,” Amatis had said. She touched the younger girl gently on the shoulder. “We’ll still see you every day! And anyway, it’s _class_. It’s not like you’re supposed to socialize. This will help you focus.”

Jocelyn had whirled around, glaring at her friend. “Is that why I’m not in your class? Because you don’t think I would pay attention?”

“It wasn’t my decision! I promise, I didn’t divide the classes. I’m not a head tutor. I’m just helping Stephen.”

Lucian had been strangely quiet, staring at his shoes. Jocelyn wondered if he’d expected this all along. He’d been acting so strange since they’d arrived in Alicante, like he anticipated being torn away from her at any given moment.

Due to the class arrangement, their morning runs together had become a necessity. It was the only time they got to be alone together, and Jocelyn was pleased to see that when they were, he was the same old Lucian she’d always known and loved.

On the morning of the first day of classes, Jocelyn walked downstairs to the practice yard, her stomach churning. She’d already been awake for hours, racing Lucian up and down Princewater Street and returning to the Academy to shower and grab a pastry for breakfast. None of this had quelled her nerves. She could feign confidence, but she wasn’t used to doing it without Lucian or at least Amatis by her side.

Early morning sun cast a friendly glow over the yard, a gentle breeze lilting through the grass. September had definitely arrived by now; the leaves of the arching tree nearby had turned a warm mahogany trimmed with gold. The sight made her ache suddenly with homesickness, picturing the countryside awash with red and orange, leaves crunching under her feet as she walked to Graymark Manor. That was a first… she hadn’t missed home at all yet. Why would she? Home had come along with her.

Unsurprisingly, Valentine was already in the practice yard, dressed impeccably in loose khakis and a white button-down shirt and chatting with Patrick Penhallow. His hair was nearly blinding in the sun. Madeleine was there as well, looking about as nervous as Jocelyn felt. She offered a friendly wave which Jocelyn returned halfheartedly.

“Hello, Jocelyn!” Eleanor said, smiling warmly. She was seated comfortably in the grass, reddish blonde hair pulled back into a low ponytail and looking more like she was chaperoning a group of toddlers than training a class of Shadowhunters. “How did you sleep?” 

“Oh, fine.” Jocelyn looked around the yard. “I’ve been up for hours. Is… is this everyone?”

“We’re waiting on one more. Oh, wonderful -- here she comes now.”

Maryse was walking briskly across the grass toward their group, quickly tying her hair into a tight braid. Had she overslept? Jocelyn tried to remember noticing her roommate doing _anything_ earlier that morning, but it was all a blur. Plus, she didn’t really care. She looked around at the motley crew assembled in the yard and thought wistfully of Lucian and Amatis in the library working on Latin grammar. At least she got to be outside today.

Eleanor gets to her feet, greeting the group, and asks them to gather around her. She then explains what they’ll be doing in their practical lessons. Today, they’ll be discussing the different materials that are harmful to Downworlders. Eleanor asks why they think this is useful, and Valentine immediately volunteers his answer: it’s important to possess these materials at all time in case the Downworlders in question need to be eradicated. Eleanor falters a little, saying that no, their main goal at the Academy is not to concentrate on the eradication of Downworlders, although it is important to carry the materials if a Shadowhunter needs to defend himself. Valentine exchanges a meaningful glance with Patrick.

“Now, Maryse,” Eleanor said, turning to smile kindly at the girl. “Please walk up to the table and choose something that would best protect you against a vampire.”

Without hesitating or saying a word, Maryse approached the table and grasped what looked like a small wooden cross in one hand. She handed it to Eleanor, looking somewhat haughty.

“Excellent. Maryse chose the cross, but as you likely know, any sort of religious talisman can be used to combat a vampire. What other items could you use?” 

Valentine stepped forward, gesturing toward a small jar of water on the table. “Holy water is like poison to a vampire. It cleanses the creature of corruption, but as it is innately corrupt, it is reduced to ash.”

“Poetic,” said Jocelyn. Eleanor shot her a quelling look, but Jocelyn was surprised to hear Madeleine let out a small chuckle.

“Thank you, Valentine… you’re correct, although you’ll find that in current circles, it’s considered more polite to refer to a vampire as _he_ rather than _it_ ,” Eleanor said. Her tone was light, but definitely carried a note of warning. Jocelyn smirked.

“Continue examining the artifacts amongst yourselves,” Eleanor continued. “This is all fairly basic, and you four are the most experienced and naturally talented students we have this year. I expect that you’ll keep all of this in mind as you progress through your studies.”

Jocelyn stepped closer to the table, selecting a small silver blade and twirling it between her fingers. It glinted in the mid-morning sun.

“Werewolves,” a voice said softly by Jocelyn’s shoulder. She turned to see Madeleine standing there, smiling hesitantly. Her hazel eyes were wide and sparkling. “Pure silver kills werewolves. Right?”

“It causes them pain with limited exposure.” Jocelyn struggled to keep her voice cool and indifferent. Her mother could maintain that tone in any situation, but Jocelyn had trouble being flat-out rude to a smiling face. “But… yeah, pure silver kills them. You’re right.”

“Excellent, girls.”

Valentine had materialized behind Madeleine, grinning eerily. Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re not our tutor,” she said curtly. “Why don’t you just pay attention to your own work like everyone else?”

His smile faltered, but only for a moment. “Never lose that spirit, Jocelyn. It’s an admirable quality.”

Madeleine, who from what Jocelyn could tell had always remained fairly silent in Valentine’s presence, let out an exasperated snort. “Like _you_ would know anything about admirable qualities.”

“I don’t know, Madeleine,” Jocelyn said, folding her arms and cocking her head to the side. “Some people probably find creepiness pretty admirable. Oh, or hey! If I ever need someone to give a really melodramatic speech at my next cocktail party, I’ve found my man!”

Madeleine threw her head back and laughed. Apparently deciding that this conversation wasn’t worth it, Valentine drifted away to talk to Maryse, who looked as though she were eavesdropping.

“Good one,” Madeleine said appreciatively, picking up a small glass vial of what looked like grave dirt and examining it. “That guy really needs to be put in his place sometimes.”

Jocelyn felt her cheeks flush. “Thanks.”

There was a moment of semi-comfortable silence while both girls pawed through the artifacts on the table. Finally, Jocelyn spoke.

“Hey, look, Madeleine… I’m sorry if I was kind of… being rude to you. My friend Lucian said I might have been.”

Madeleine turned, long hair falling over her shoulder. “That’s okay. I didn’t think you were being rude at all.”

Jocelyn looked at her skeptically.

“Alright, maybe a little,” she amended, and they both laughed.

“I’m sorry,” Jocelyn said again. The words felt light in her mouth; she didn’t often apologize, but it felt freeing in a weird way. “I don’t have a lot of friends, especially not girls, so somehow I guess I just… don’t really know how to talk to other girls without getting jealous and competitive and obnoxious.”

“I totally understand. Actually, you probably don’t remember this, but when we were, like, five, my parents brought me over to your house to play with you.”

Jocelyn laughed again. “Really? Did I torment you?”

“Nah,” Madeleine said, but the corners of her mouth quirked up in a way that made Jocelyn suspect she was lying. “You have a strong personality, though. It’s just the way you are. It’s interesting that you and Lucian are friends,” she added as an afterthought.

“Lucian’s just always been there,” Jocelyn said, reaching for a silver ornament and tossing it from hand to hand. “It’s like I was born waiting for him and nothing made sense until he was there. I don’t even really _remember_ anything before I met him.”

Suddenly intensely aware that Madeleine was giving her a scrutinizing look, Jocelyn grabbed a small iron amulet from the table and peered at it closely, wishing she could hide behind it.

“How is he doing with training? I never see him around.”

Jocelyn squeezed the amulet tightly, watching as the skin around her knuckles turned white. “He’s… well, he’s not really doing very well, to be honest.”

Madeleine clucked sympathetically, the kind of noise a mother might make. There was something inherently maternal about this girl, Jocelyn thought. 

“I was wondering about that. I mean, not that he _seems_ weak, but he did have a little difficulty at the Marking, I think?”

She was being delicate on purpose. _Everyone_ remembered Lucian’s disastrous Marking.

“Yeah, he still has trouble,” Jocelyn said heavily. “He feels sick every time he’s Marked. I’ve been getting him to go on runs with me every morning… I thought the fresh air might help him, but I guess there really hasn’t been any change. Some nights he has to sleep in the infirmary. He even has trouble holding the weapons. I’ve been taking him to the armory on breaks and helping him practice holding up a sword, but he can’t go without dropping it for more than ten minutes. I could do better than that when I was twelve.” She paused for breath. “Not that I’m bragging or anything.” 

“I’m sorry he’s having trouble,” Madeleine said sadly. “I like Lucian a lot. He’s very nice to me.”

Jocelyn sighed. “Sometimes I wish Shadowhunting was based on how good of a person you are. That way, he’d beat me in every test.”

“I’m sure you’re a good person too, Jocelyn.”

“Not like Lucian. _No one_ is as good as him.”

Madeleine smiled. “See, I can tell you’re a good friend already! You’ve got great potential as a friend, Jocelyn Fairchild.”

“Thanks, Madeleine Bellefleur.”

“Oh, it’s Maddy,” she corrected. “That’s what my friends call me.”

“Maddy.” Jocelyn tried it out, somewhat shyly. “Okay. I’ll remember that.”

 

* * *

 

November 12, 1986

Dear Mother and Daddy,

 

Things here in Alicante are still going well. I assume you’ve probably been getting the progress reports in the mail. (Just ignore the comments from Robert Lightwood. Honestly… he’s not even my real tutor anymore. I’m not convinced that he knows what he’s doing at all. So just disregard those. Okay? Cool.)

I’ve really been enjoying the practical lessons. Apparently fighting imaginary enemies is a good way to let out “pent-up aggression” — at least, that’s what my tutor Eleanor keeps telling me. Latin and Greek lessons are going well also.

I’ve been meeting some interesting people. My roommate is Maryse Trueblood, also from the countryside, and she’s quite chatty. Sometimes we just stay up gossiping and braiding each other’s hair until the sun comes up. I’ve also had the supreme pleasure of becoming acquainted with Cyril Morgenstern’s son, Valentine. He’s a cheerful young man with a lovely disposition. His friendliness and open-minded nature astound me, to be honest. Sometimes during class discussions I’m all, “Valentine, please, I’m dying to know how you feel about this hot-button issue! Will you please regale us with tales you have heard from your father? Will you channel the spirit of Socrates and enlighten us all with a rousing and even-tempered speech?” He always complies. It’s lovely, really.

Hope all is well at the Manor.

With love,

Jocelyn

 

* * *

 

 

Jocelyn Fairchild

November 20, 1986

Homework Assignment: Choose one Downworlder organization, group, or clan and discuss its influence over recent Shadowhunter affairs.

 

The Praetor Lupus

Praetor Lupus, or “wolf guard,” is not just a catchy Latin phrase. It is an organization of Downworlders founded in the Victorian era by London werewolf Woolsey Scott. Continuing their great love of a long-dead language, members wear a common symbol: an emblem of a wolf’s paw with the motto “Beati Bellicosi” or “Blessed are the warriors.” Because if you’re a self-professed secret organization aimed at identifying and rehabilitating rogue werewolves, the most subtle thing you could do is WEAR A GIANT WOLF PAW ON YOUR SHIRT.

 

**Jocelyn, seriously, this is your homework.**

I’m aware of this, Lucian

**Take it seriously and quit goofing around!**

I know, I know… I’m just so not in the mood to do homework right now. I slept like shit last night.

**Again?? What’s wrong?**

Just more nightmares.

**Maybe you can tell Eleanor about it. She might have an idea about how to make it stop.**

It’s not a big deal. I’m not gonna run to my tutor crying about having bad dreams… I’m sixteen.

**Okay, SORRY. But I’m not going to look over your homework assignments if you don’t take them seriously.**

Fiiiine. Okay. I’m reading. See?

 

* * *

 

 

_Clouds of smoke, towers high as mountains. The sky, dark as midnight but starless and blank. Jocelyn hurries forward, hunched over against the wind. She does not feel her feet touch the ground. She does not even feel herself breathe._

_‘Take me home,’ she tries to scream, feet aching, desperate to stop moving for one second, just one. ‘Please, I want to go home, take me home.’_

_Her voice is gone, stolen by the hot, thick summer air. The strange city offers no comfort and the people rushing by her do not give her a second glance. In fact, they’re not really people after all… they’re dark shapes carried on the wind, which picks up to an unforgiving roar._

_They are shadows. Dust and shadows._

“Jocelyn?”

Soaked in sweat, she jolted awake, eyes slowly adjusting to her surroundings. The stone walls of her bedroom were washed in moonlight. Across the room, Maryse’s bed was empty, the blankets tangled haphazardly. Lucian’s head was peeking around the wooden door, hair rumpled from sleep.

“Hey,” Jocelyn sighed, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest. “Come in.”

“Were you dreaming again?” Lucian asked hesitantly, slipping into the room and letting the door close gently behind him.

“I dream every night, Lucian. I’m not brain-dead.”

“You know what I mean.” He stepped carefully around the textbooks that Jocelyn had scattered across the floor, climbing up onto her bed. “Nightmares. The ones you’ve been having ever since we came here.”

Jocelyn scooted back to make room for him; this bed was even smaller than Lucian’s back home. Apparently Shadowhunters-in-training weren’t expected to spend a lot of time sleeping. “I’m fine.”

“But you were having a nightmare.”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah. I guess.”

“It’s not a weakness,” Lucian reminded her. “Everybody gets bad dreams.”

“I know. I’ve been reading all these.” She gestured to the mess of books on the ground. “All the creepy warlock magic and descriptions of demons… I think maybe it just seeps into my subconscious or something.”

“I have nightmares a lot too, Joss. From the runes. In the Infirmary, they told me that it’s perfectly normal.”

“Did they give you a pamphlet about it?” Jocelyn raised her hands, framing imaginary words in the air. “It’s Perfectly Normal: A Young Shadowhunter’s Guide to Dreaming About the Hopeless Fragility of Humankind and Our Role in the Destruction of Demonic Creatures Which Have Literally Crawled Out of Hell.”

“Nah, that’s too long to fit on the pamphlet.” He grinned through the dark, slipping his glasses back on and suddenly looking much more like himself. “They do have handouts about what to do if your best friend is an unstoppable sass machine, though.”

“I can’t think of anyone who would need that.” Jocelyn smiled back, leaning forward to push his glasses back up. He seemed to freeze up under her touch.

A strange silence settled over the room. All of a sudden, Jocelyn felt too awake to even contemplate sleeping.

“So… what’s up?” she asked lamely.

Lucian chewed on his bottom lip. “Can we talk?”

“What are we doing right now, dork?”

“I miss you,” he blurted out, eyes downcast. Jocelyn felt her smile fade slowly.

“I… you _miss_ me?” She scrunched up her nose, confused. “But I’m right here. I’ve _been_ right here.”

“I know, it’s not that… I just…” Lucian trailed off, looking as though this display of emotion was physically paining him. Even in the dark, she could see a red flush creeping across his cheeks. “Everybody loves you here. I mean, I always knew that they would, but-”

“Wait, wait,” Jocelyn interrupted. “What are you _talking_ about? Who loves me?”

“Jocelyn,” he said in that head-cocked-to-the-side, almost patronizing way that reminded her strongly of Amatis. “You have to see how everybody’s dying to be your friend. Madeleine, Bianca, Kiva, Maryse… Celine Montclaire practically worships you… Robert Lightwood—”

“Lucian!” Jocelyn practically yelled. She was laughing so hard she couldn’t catch her breath. “What… what _planet_ are you living on? Maryse ignores me and I ignore her, Robert doesn’t give a shit about me — _why_ are you making that face?!” 

“For someone who can be so narcissistic, Joss, you really don’t—”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

“If Robert really didn’t care about you, do you think he’d have tutored you for _four_ years? And Maryse is intimidated by you! She’s jealous of you, anybody can see that! This morning she was talking to Bianca about you for so long that she must’ve been late to class. Who your _family_ is, how _brave_ you were for sticking up to that Morgenstern guy… and don’t even get me started on him…” 

“Stop it!” Jocelyn hissed. Her hands were shaking. “I don’t… I don’t know what you’re trying to do, Lucian. Are you trying to make me feel bad or something? I’m _sorry_ if people talk about me and it annoys you or something, but I can’t control what people-”

“It doesn’t annoy me, Jocelyn, it scares me!”

Jocelyn fell silent at that. She tried to think of a time when Lucian had admitted to being scared of something in front of her, but her mind was blank. The word had never been in their vocabulary. 

“Why?” she asked finally.

The silence was so electric Jocelyn could practically feel it crackling. When Lucian finally answered, his voice was soft and steady.

“You’re all I have. Look at me, Joss. Look at what’s happened since we moved here. I’m nothing. You’re everything. I always knew…”

“You’re _not nothing_ ,” Jocelyn spat out, and her voice was shaking, fire exploding in her veins.

“Compared to you, I have always been nothing.”

With trembling hands, Jocelyn reached forward to touch her best friend’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. I’m really just… I didn’t mean to hurt you. If I’ve been ignoring you, I didn’t mean to. I’ve just been isolated for _so long_ back home, and to be here and have all these resources and books to read and things to do… I don’t know, Lucian, don’t you feel like you’re _finally_ where you belong? You’re finally doing what you’ve always been meant to do?”

He turned away from her, crossing his arms over his chest. He didn’t answer.

“Just go.” She was still breathing heavily, waiting for the fire inside her to dissipate. “I can’t talk to you about this anymore. Just go.”

Without a word, Lucian stood, the ancient bedsprings creaking as he pushed off the mattress. He padded away through the darkness and disappeared through the doorway, pulling it shut behind him with a definitive click.

Jocelyn sat stock still on top of her quilt, shaking hands folded in her lap. Her heart was pounding as though she’d been running for miles. Slowly, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth, the way Elisabeth Graymark had calmed her down when she’d been upset as a child. As always, her posture naturally began to slump, her shoulders sagging, her heart rate returning to its normal consistent beat. It was then, in the silence, that she heard a voice.

It was distinctly male, though muffled through the thick glass window, and coming from outside. Probably the practice yard. Curious and desperate for a distraction, Jocelyn climbed out of bed and crossed to the window, flipping the latch and sliding it open carefully. Sure enough, a small circle of dark figures was clustered below. She could just barely make them out in the light from the moon.

“-for action. Words, you will learn, will only get you so far. There are steps that need to be taken, and people who must be assembled in order to accomplish the success of these steps.”

Jocelyn would’ve been able to identify the speaker even if she couldn’t see his silvery white hair glinting through the dark. Valentine Morgenstern, giving another nauseating speech to what looked like a group of four or five other students. They were all dressed in dark gear, but she glimpsed Maryse’s long, swinging ponytail and felt a sinking in her stomach. So _that’s_ where she had gone. 

As carefully as possible, Jocelyn closed the window and sunk down to the floor in her nightgown, crossing her legs beneath her. So Valentine was meeting with people under the cover of night? It had to be past one in the morning. Maybe he was giving out coffee and donuts or something.

Still too worked up to even consider sleeping, Jocelyn leaned over to the nearest pile of books on the floor and began rifling through them. There was the battered Shadowhunter’s Codex she’d owned since she was six, full of scribbled notes and doodles; a thick volume of demonology packed with the types of horrifying pictures she assumed were giving her nightmares; a black leather-bound book with the Fairchild family crest hand painted across the cover. She closed her fingers around this last one protectively, pulling it into her lap. This was her photo album.

There were about ten volumes of photos back home in Fairchild Manor chronicling every step Jocelyn had ever taken, but this was the only one she’d ever particularly cared about. Before leaving for Alicante, she had painstakingly sorted through the prints, selecting the ones she loved the most, and arranged them neatly into a spare album she’d found on the shelf. She hadn’t opened it in months, saving it for when she really needed it.

Like now.

The first few pictures were blurry, taken by a young Amatis of an even younger Jocelyn and Lucian. She paused on an image of herself, Amatis, and Lucian perched on the stone wall behind Graymark Manor, grinning hugely; Elisabeth had posed them there. Amatis was probably eight, brown hair braided tightly and tied with bright blue ribbons that matched her eyes. She was missing one of her front teeth. Lucian was next to her, cheeks flushed from the cool air, cheeks still slightly chubby… he must have been five or six. Jocelyn smiled down at her younger self, somewhat blurred as though she hadn’t been able to stop moving long enough for the photo to be taken. Her dark red hair fell in haphazard waves almost to her waist and her smile was the biggest out of the three of them.

On the next page was a photo of Elisabeth, warm brown hair framing her heart-shaped face, wide blue eyes sparkling. She wore a simple black dress and was leaning over to wrap her arms around a six-year-old Jocelyn’s freckled shoulders; Jocelyn was turning to look up at Elisabeth, her little face so full of adoration that it made present-day Jocelyn’s heart ache. She swallowed against a sudden lump in her throat, tracing one finger along the photograph.

Choking back emotion, she flipped the pages, watching herself and Lucian ageing before her eyes. They were seven years old and Lucian was giving her a piggyback ride standing in the river, the water almost to his knees - that was when she was still significantly shorter and skinnier than him. They were nine and sitting on the steps of Accords Hall, dressed in their finest, waiting for Amatis’s Marking to begin, arms loosely wrapped around each other’s shoulders. They were eleven, sitting at Lucian’s kitchen table, Jocelyn’s head thrown back in laughter at something her best friend had said. Her hair was long and flowing, her feet bare, and Lucian was grinning widely, blue eyes wide and full of life.

 _“Compared to you, I have always been nothing.”_ Lucian’s final words echoed in her head, and Jocelyn snapped the photo album shut in one last burst of rage. _How_ could he think that? Didn’t he see, didn’t he understand how beautiful and incredible his entire family was? How loving and caring they were, how important that was?

Jocelyn crossed her arms, furious with herself and Lucian and the Academy and the Clave, everything that had led them to this moment, led Lucian to believe that he wasn’t worthy. There, alone in the dark bedroom, she finally let herself fall apart.

 

 


	8. Snowfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally!! I’m gonna keep this author’s note short because this chapter is LONG. I promise it won’t be so long before I update again! In the meantime, feel free to get in touch with me on Tumblr (I’m isabelllelightwood) – I love hearing what you guys think of the story!

* * *

 

The first snow came in mid-November, even though gold-flecked leaves were still dusting the practice yard, twirling through the air on a chilly breeze. Jocelyn woke up one morning to an usually dim light and leapt out of bed, a grin already spreading across her face as she raced to the window. 

“Maryse!” she hissed.

“What?” A dull, sleepy voice called from across the room. Maryse was somewhere underneath her heavy black quilt, hair spilling out against the pillow.

“It snowed last night!”

She didn’t answer, but Jocelyn hardly cared. It looked like someone had shaken a snow globe outside, filling the world with white. Everything as far as she could see, from the roofs of the houses on Princewater Street to the top of the Gard way off in the distance, was gleaming like _adamas_.

Winter had always been her favorite season. As a child, she had convinced Lucian that she was able to smell the first snow in the air days before it actually happened. They had spent the months leading up to December obsessing over when the first flake would fall, how many snow angels they would make, which windowpane would form the best icicles. For the past few years, snowy days had meant that Robert Lightwood wouldn’t be able to make the journey out to Fairchild Manor to tutor Jocelyn, so she would gleefully tramp through the woods to the Graymark’s. Elisabeth would be tutoring Lucian indoors and she would hole up with them in the sitting room, working on their Ancient Greek or Latin. The house was filled with books, some of them dusty old volumes that actually creaked when the pages were turned. Elisabeth encouraged them to read classics, to know stories beyond Nephilim mythology, and so both children became extremely well-read, planting themselves in front of the fireplace and paging through _The Odyssey_ and _The Complete Works of William Shakespeare_. These were the happiest times of her life - feeling warm and safe, but beyond that, feeling loved.

“It’s really pretty.”

Jocelyn turned, jolted out of her reminiscence. Maryse was standing about three feet away from her. Her gaze was fixed on the window as if she were determined not to look her roommate in the eye.

“The snow,” she clarified. “It’s pretty.”

“What’s gotten into _you_?”

“What do you mean?” Maryse asked innocently, taking a step forward and tucking a lock of jet black hair behind one ear.

“Maryse, come on. You never talk to me. We never talk to each other.”

“Well, now would be a good time to start,” she shrugged. “We’re going home in a week.”

Jocelyn bit her lip, still confused by her roommate’s sudden burst of chattiness. “Are you… excited to go home?”

“Of course,” Maryse said softly. “I miss my parents.”

“Ohhh. You’ve been homesick all this time?” Jocelyn was trying to understand the concept so hard she thought her eyebrows might be joining together in concentration.

The dark-haired girl turned from the window, regarding Jocelyn curiously. “Of course,” she said again. “You haven’t been?”

“Well… yes, I guess. I just… you know, it’s just me and my parents. No brothers or sisters. There’s not as much to miss.”

It was as if a thundercloud rolled in across Maryse’s face, darkening her expression. She turned back to stare out at the snow.

“Do you have siblings?” Jocelyn asked. 

“I had a brother.”

“Oh.” She stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, not sure whether to move.

“Did you not know?” Maryse’s voice was cold as the winter wind winding through the trees outside the window. “I assumed everyone did.”

“Know what?" 

Maryse leaned against the wall, studying her fingernails. “It’s not important. My brother just… made some poor choices. I’m still paying for his mistakes.”

“Oh,” Jocelyn said again.

“I don’t like to be gossiped about,” she said suddenly, harshly.

“I’ve never heard any gossip about you. I promise.”

A shaky silence fell upon the room. Jocelyn moved toward her chest of drawers, acutely aware of her footsteps. Carefully, she pulled out her clothes for the day, tossing them onto her bed.

“Hey, Maryse…”

“Yes?”

“Do you… I mean, if you need a ride home next week, you can share my carriage. My father’s sending one for me and Lucian and Amatis. We could take you to your house.”

Maryse was quiet for long that Jocelyn considered tacking a sarcastic “…or not” onto the end of her sentence. But finally she spoke, her voice fragile as cracking ice.

“I live in London, so my parents will come to pick me up. But… thank you.”

“It’s no problem.” Jocelyn yanked her gray sweater over her head. “London… I’ve been there once. It’s a great city. No wonder you’re homesick.”

For the first time, Maryse smiled - a tiny quirk of her lips, but a smile nonetheless. “It’s not the city I miss. Sometimes home isn’t just a place, Jocelyn.” 

She rose from the floor, grabbing a washcloth and toothbrush from her desk. On her way to the door, she hesitated, turning back.

“You know… have you thought about meeting up with Valentine Morgenstern?”

“Excuse me?” Jocelyn asked, making a face like someone was holding a dead fish under her nose.

“You should come meet up with us some night. I think you’d enjoy it.”

“Okay, but make sure you wear your best fur coat.”

“Why?” Maryse frowned. 

“Because hell will have frozen over and we’ll all be ice skating around the practice yard,” Jocelyn turned to the mirror to brush her hair.

Without a word, Maryse left, but out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn could’ve sworn she saw her laughing.

 

* * *

 

 

As much as Jocelyn loved the Academy, she found herself mentally counting the days until the family carriage would arrive to take her back to Fairchild Manor. Her studies were becoming more difficult - she found herself constantly saying Latin phrases in a French accent and she was constantly sore from the amount of physical activity her body was being put through. Every night, she lay in bed with a palpable ache running through her bones. She was becoming stronger than ever before, she knew… her arm muscles burned like fire and her calves felt like they were being ripped apart. Sometimes she caught herself running her fingers gently over the rippling white scars of faded Marks on her arms, shoulders, and legs, visceral proof of the life to which she was adapting. 

But it wasn’t just school that was taking a toll on her. Lucian was barely speaking to her - when she saw him around, he didn’t look _angry_ , just sad and a bit lost, and that was almost harder. She couldn’t reach him anymore, no matter how often she approached him or how many notes she slipped under his bedroom door. Day after day, she tried to catch Amatis alone to ask for her help, but strangely, her routine seemed to be changing. She was never in her room when Jocelyn dropped by, even if it was after midnight, and she had taken to sitting with Stephen Herondale at meals. Without her two best friends, Jocelyn felt quite useless. It seemed like everyone wanted to talk to her except for the people she needed most; the younger girls trotted around at her heels from dawn to dusk and even Maryse was attempting to engage her in conversation.

The only person Jocelyn permitted to speak to her was Madeleine. The two girls had taken to climbing onto a flat patch of roof above the kitchen before dinner and watching the late afternoon sunlight sparkle off the shining demon towers. Jocelyn often brought her sketchbook, balancing it between her knees. She found that capturing the view calmed her down.

“Well, look at it this way,” Maddy said one evening, folding her gloved hands neatly in her lap. “He _has_ to talk to you soon. I mean, you’re going to be in the carriage for hours on Saturday! What is he going to do, ignore you the entire time?”

Jocelyn looked up from her sketchbook darkly.

“Oh, he will _not_ ,” Maddy laughed. “He adores you.”

“Does he?”

“Jocelyn, every friendship goes through rough patches. And honestly, I don’t think this has anything to do with you. You know he’s been having trouble with his studies.”

“Then he should ask me for help!” Jocelyn exploded, pencil screeching across the paper. Several students down in the practice yard looked around in confusion, trying to find the source of the voice. “I’m his _best friend_.” 

“Why don’t you try doing something nice for him?”

“Maddy, not everyone goes around picking wildflowers for their friends. Not everyone’s a goddamn saint.”

“I’m not asking you to do something uncharacteristic.” Maddy was clearly hiding a smile behind her hand, one of her many mannerisms that drove Jocelyn insane. “Do something that’s very you. Why don’t you draw him a picture?”

“Because I’m not five.”

“Jocelyn, you _know_ your drawings are good. Your paintings are even better. Paint him something!”

“What would I paint?” She set down her pencil, drawing her dark green cloak closer around her.

“I don’t know… a portrait of both of you together? That would be cute.”

Jocelyn made a gagging noise. “And also. I don’t paint people. Especially not him.”

Maddy frowned. “Why not?”

“With art, I capture things forever, exactly as they are. Because I don’t want them to change.”

“Do you want him to change?” Maddy asked softly.

Jocelyn was quiet for a moment, picking up her pencil again and sweeping it across the paper. She let out a sigh, breath leaving her lips in a white cloud. “I’ll paint him something.”

“Good plan.”

 

* * *

 

 

Painting from memory wasn’t something Jocelyn had ever enjoyed. She liked capturing her surroundings, taking in the colors and lights and accents of the scene around her - somehow, her mind just couldn’t offer up vivid enough recollections. But for Lucian, she tried.

For her final two nights at the Academy, she shut herself up in her room after lessons, sitting cross-legged on the floor with her tray of watercolors spread before her. Faint shouting and laughter drifted from outside the frosted-over window, but she ignored everyone. Maddy had stupid ideas sometimes, Jocelyn thought, but this one was admittedly good.

Finally, Saturday morning arrived, washing the bedroom in golden light. Maryse was already gone by the time Jocelyn dragged herself out of her warm bed, and their room looked strangely sparse in her absence. Quickly, Jocelyn changed into jeans and a sweater and tossed her wrinkled nightgown into her trunk, slamming it shut with one foot. She shoved it into the hallway where one of the tutors, probably Robert or Stephen, would carry it to the carriage, and returned to her room for the most important thing of all. 

The painting lay on Jocelyn’s desk. She’d set it there to dry overnight. She picked it up now with slightly trembling fingertips - it was far and away the best piece she had ever completed. _It’s because I took it seriously for the first time_ , she realized. It wasn’t a lazy pencil sketch or an experimental swirl of paint across a crumpled piece of paper. She had put everything she had into it.

Grinning, she threw her green velvet traveling cloak around her shoulders, fastened it sloppily, and grabbed the painting off her desk. Her footsteps thundered across the floor and down the staircase, hair flying behind her.

“Whoa, whoa!” Stephen Herondale called, laughing, as she leapt to the ground from the fourth step. His voice echoed throughout the stone entrance hall. “What are you doing here?”

Jocelyn spun gracefully on her heel. “What do you mean?”

“I thought you left with Lucian an hour ago!”

“Uh, no,” she snorted. “Seeing as I’m standing right here.”

“Jocelyn?!” Amatis emerged from the dining room, arms full of what looked like elegant gold candlesticks. The color seemed to be draining from her face. “You’re still here?”

“He was lying, Amatis,” Stephen said gravely, turning to face her.

“Oh, _no way_.”

“Does somebody want to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Jocelyn snapped.

“Joss… Lucian’s gone. He took your carriage home an hour ago,” Amatis said weakly, stepping forward. “Oh, I really can’t believe him…”

“What do you mean, he took my _carriage_?” Jocelyn’s voice rose somewhat hysterically. “He’s not allowed to do that! What am I supposed to do, walk home?”

Stephen sighed. “He told us you were already out there waiting for him.”

“I just assumed he was telling the truth,” said Amatis apologetically. “I decided to stay an extra day here tidying everything up, and I’ve been so busy I didn’t press him…”

Jocelyn threw her hands up in the air in exasperation, the painting crinkling. The _stupid painting._ “Well, fabulous. I better get going. At this rate, I’ll be home by February. Of course, I’ll die of hypothermia weeks before that, so it’ll be my ghost showing up at Fairchild Manor. Then maybe when I murder Lucian we can haunt the place together. Maybe—”

“Jocelyn?” asked a third voice. She whirled around to find Valentine Morgenstern standing in the doorway, looking intimidating in a black high-collared coat.

“Oh, thank the Angel, the psychopath’s still here!” she shrieked, well aware of how obnoxiously shrill her voice had become.

“Joss, take a deep breath,” said Amatis.

“I was just wondering if you needed a ride. My carriage just arrived, and I believe your family’s manor is on the way to mine.” 

Jocelyn frowned, taking in Valentine’s appearance. His pale complexion and white-blonde hair contrasted sharply with his long, dark coat, creating a vaguely terrifying aesthetic. “What are you _wearing_?” 

“A coat,” he said smoothly.

“That sounds like a good idea, Jocelyn,” Stephen said in a shaky voice that indicated he was valiantly fighting the urge to laugh. “I’ll go get your trunk while you decide how badly you want to avoid death by frostbite.”

For a few seconds, Jocelyn regarded Valentine skeptically, one hand on her hip.

“Fine,” she said eventually, marching across the entrance hall and pushing past him. “But if your carriage looks like some kind of giant skull with wheels, I am _walking_.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Morgenstern carriage was not shaped like a skull. It was actually the nicest one in which Jocelyn had ever ridden, although she refused to admit this out loud. The interior seats were a deep red velvet trimmed in shimmering gold. This same gold swept ornately across the black-painted exterior in the shape of a shooting star, the symbol of the Morgenstern family.

Jocelyn was slouched in the corner, examining her hair for split ends. On the other side of the carriage, Valentine was sitting up straight, peering out the window with great interest as though he had never seen Idris before.

“Morning star,” Jocelyn said as the carriage rattled down Princewater Street. Looking up, she caught a glimpse of one of the sparkling demon towers piercing the gray sky. It looked like it was about to snow again. “Morgenstern. Right?”

“That’s correct.”

Jocelyn turned to face him, studying his silvery blonde hair as it caught the winter light. Almost as a rule, she didn’t paint people, but he admittedly would be interesting to paint.

“Why do you ask?” Valentine continued, regarding her calmly. His smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes, which were dark, dark as the starless country sky.

She shrugged. “Curious.”

“I suppose it’s natural to be curious about each other,” he said. “We all grew up hearing each other’s names, didn’t we? Granville Fairchild’s daughter, the… spirited one.”

He paused for just long enough for her to imagine that _spirited_ wasn’t the first word that had come to mind.

“There are worse things to be known for.”

“Do you get along with your father?” Valentine asked, smooth as satin, practically interrupting her.

Jocelyn blinked, taken aback. “My father? Yeah, sure, we get along.”

“That’s wonderful. Your father is a good man.”

She made a noncommittal sound, turning to look out the window. They were exiting the city now, and the white-capped mountains loomed in the distance, stretching to the heavens.

“You don’t agree?”

Jocelyn sighed. “He’s a good man. A good Shadowhunter. A good father. Just… maybe not the best one for me.”

Valentine cocked his head inquisitively. She hadn’t planned on elaborating, but the gesture reminded her so much of Lucian that she found the words spilling from her lips almost by accident.

“My father is great, really… he makes sure I’m taken care of and he always read to me, helped me learn runes, showed me how to use my stele, all of that stuff. But I grew up around Lucian’s parents too, and they were just…” she trailed off, biting her lip. “Different.”

“Different in what way? I know they are significantly less… comfortable.”

But Jocelyn was already shaking her head violently. “No. No, money doesn’t have anything to do it. The Graymarks were always the best people I knew… the best family. Lucian’s father was amazing. He was just always _happy,_ so everyone else was automatically in a good mood just by being around him. He used to have tea parties in the garden with me and Amatis-” 

She trailed off, laughing, but broke off in surprise when she heard Valentine chuckle as well.

“He does sound like a good father,” he said.

“And he always loved his children for who they were, right in that moment. You know, even when they were a mess… if Lucian broke some ancient artifact from his office or if Amatis burnt dinner. He would do this thing, especially when they were really little, where he would just pick them up and swing them over his shoulder and carry them around. It sounds stupid, but it was _hysterical_. We would just laugh and laugh. I remember he did it to me one time when I was trying to climb up the trellis in their front garden and got my dress stuck. Lucian was freaking out on the ground, crying about how much trouble we were going to be in, and I was trying to calm him down from eight feet in the air - and we were _little_ , probably no more than six years old - and then his father came out, grabbed me, and just swung me over his shoulder and tossed me into the air. He told me if I wanted to be up high so badly, he would put me on top of the weathervane - it was about to thunderstorm, so I was just yelling _no!_ over and over but laughing my head off. That was the first time I really felt like I was a part of their family, I guess. It was like they’d accepted me.”

She paused for air, looking up at Valentine, who was watching her almost indulgently.

“And your father never did things like that with you?” he asked.

Jocelyn sighed. “I think… he loves me for who I’ll be someday. Not for who I am now.”

 She met Valentine’s eyes again, and to her surprise, some kind of spark seemed to ignite in the dark. But then it was gone, so quickly that she might have just imagined it. She folded her arms across her chest and turned back to the window. They sat in silence for a few moments before Valentine spoke.

“I think I understand what you mean,” he said quietly. “My father… he can be a difficult man.”

“I’ve heard as much. No offense.”

Valentine shrugged, sliding down a little lower in his seat. “The things you’ve heard are probably correct. I’ve always wanted to do exactly what my father wanted… you know, what he expected from me.”

“It’s hard to live up to expectations.”

“Especially when those expectations are my father’s.”

“Why? What does he want from you?”

“You could probably guess. Study hard, fight bravely, marry well, uphold the family name.”

Jocelyn snorted. “Yeah, my mother practically has that carved into the mantle.”

“But you _want_ to uphold the family name, don’t you?” Valentine asked. “To bring honor to your parents?”

“If I’m honoring anybody, it’s going to be myself,” Jocelyn said curtly. “And if I’m successful and accomplished in life, that’s my achievement. They don’t get to take credit for it just because they…”

“Gave you life?” Valentine smiled.

“I was going to say ‘raised me,’ but hey, they didn’t even do that, so… if anybody gets credit for how I turn out, it’s the Graymarks. And Amatis,” she amended. “She’s my conscience.”

“Did you paint that?” Valentine asked suddenly, gesturing to something on the seat next to her. Jocelyn looked over with a jolt. The _painting_.

“Yeah. Don’t ask.”

“May I see it?”

“What part of ‘don’t ask’ did you not understand?”

Valentine continued speaking as if she were a barely-audible mosquito. “I heard you were a talented artist. Madeleine Bellefleur was discussing your art at breakfast a few days ago.”

“Eavesdropping on my friends, huh?” she asked, but handed the slightly wrinkled piece of paper to Valentine regardless. Now that she wasn’t giving the painting to Lucian, it had significantly decreased in importance. He took it carefully, spreading it across his lap. Jocelyn turned to watch the trees of Brocelind Forest speeding by outside.

She heard him make a sort of low humming noise of approval. “Jocelyn, this is quite beautiful.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled.

“Where is this?” He held the painting up almost like he was about to hang it inside the carriage. She smiled reluctantly.

“It’s the view from my window at home. Our manor is on a little bit of a hill, see? So it looks down through the trees. And that light down there is… is the Graymark manor.”

“That’s lovely, growing up so close to your best friend.” Slowly, Valentine placed the painting back on the seat next to Jocelyn.

Jocelyn was silent, tracing one finger across the black Voyance rune splashed across the back of her right hand.

“I never had a friend like that,” Valentine said quietly.

“Really?” Jocelyn looked up. “I would’ve thought your parents would’ve had their friends bring their children over to play with you. That’s what mine did.”

“I’m sure they did when I was small, but as I got older, I started spending most of my time with Father. Learning things.”

“All the time?” Jocelyn wrinkled her nose at the thought.

“It wasn’t bad at all, really. Father taught me to sail… all men should be able to sail, he told me. That was always very important to him. And he taught me to fight.”

“That’s not the same, though. Parents should teach you to love.”

Valentine blinked, his gaze seeming to sharpen and focus on her face. “We’re Shadowhunters,” he said, confused, as if that explained everything.

“Oh… right.” Jocelyn wanted to somehow grab those words from the air and shove them back into her mouth. She had told no one about the warlock’s warning on her first night in Alicante - _Choose to fight, and you will never love. But choose to love, and you will never stop fighting._ “I know.”

“Not that it’s unimportant to care for your family and friends,” Valentine said, suddenly all business again. “But we’ve been given a heavenly mission, Jocelyn. The angel Raziel entrusted us to-”

“I don’t need a history lesson,” Jocelyn snapped.

For a moment, she thought Valentine was going to shout at her - she would’ve welcomed it, felt more comfortable angering him that entertaining him. But then his features settled into themselves like the evening sky after a thunderstorm. “We may love, but we must guard our hearts. That was all I meant." 

“Sometimes I think it must be harder for Nephilim to guard our hearts. Can you imagine what it must be like _not_ to be like this? Walking around blind and clueless and never picking up a seraph blade or seeing a demon or anything?”

“I don’t want to imagine it,” Valentine said.

“Me neither,” Jocelyn answered instantly, leaning back into the corner again as if she could disappear into the shadows, hiding her face from view.

Valentine was still watching her. “Will you and Lucian become _parabatai_?”

“Um, personal.”

He chuckled again. “You don’t have to answer. I was merely curious.”

Jocelyn leaned her head against the window, watching out of the corner of her eye as the tree line faded into the gray sky. “We will be.”

“You will?” He sounded pleasantly surprised. 

“It’s been planned forever. I mean, people around us were mentioning it by the time we were six, so…” 

“But it’s your choice.” 

“Obviously.” Jocelyn sighed. “It’s _my_ choice, actually. Lately, I just don’t know if he…” 

She trailed off. Valentine was watching her carefully, his expression making goosebumps ripple the skin of her forearms.

“You do know what they say about _parabatai_ , Jocelyn. If the decision is not unanimous, it may be wise to-” 

“It’s unanimous,” Jocelyn interrupted, rolling her eyes. “By the Angel. I start to think you’re being friendly and then you say shit like that.”

“Keep asking him,” Valentine said. “See what he decides.”

They fell silent. Jocelyn leaned back against the seat, listening to the grinding of the carriage wheels against the stone-paved road, the clip-clopping of horse hooves. They had to be getting close to the manor by now. 

“You talk a lot,” she muttered, for no reason except a blind desire to get the last word in. 

Valentine smiled.

 

* * *

 

 

Seconds after the carriage slowed to a stop outside Fairchild Manor, Jocelyn flung herself out the door, nearly tripping over her traveling cloak. She moved to the back of the carriage to grab her trunk, but Valentine beat her to it, white hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. He lifted the heavy trunk as though it were a pillow, although she noticed his upper arm muscles straining under the weight.

“I can carry it myself,” Jocelyn snapped as he started down the inclined driveway toward the manor, footsteps crunching through the newly-fallen snow. He ignored her.

“I’d better be getting home,” Valentine said abruptly, adjusting his long black coat like some kind of overgrown, pompous bat.

“Yeah, get out of here before my parents see you. The last thing I need is an interrogation.” Jocelyn grabbed the brass handles of the trunk, hauling it to the top step and leaning against the front door. “And… thank you, I guess. For the ride.” 

“It was my pleasure.” He gave a sweeping bow in her direction. It was the kind of thing she and Lucian would’ve done as a joke, but, she realized with an internal eye-roll, he was completely sincere. “Have a wonderful Christmas, Jocelyn.” 

She stood there on the snowy front steps, arms crossed over her chest tightly, for a full minute, waiting as he got back into the carriage and closed the door. Finally, it rattled off down the icy driveway. Jocelyn turned to let herself into Fairchild Manor for the first time in months.

 

* * *

 

Granville and Adele were throwing a party. Of course. _I shouldn’t be surprised_ , Jocelyn told herself as her mother hurried her into the parlor room, fingertips pressing tightly into her shoulder blades.

“Can’t I at least change my clothes?” Jocelyn hissed. The room was filled with elegantly dressed friends of her parents, all in deep reds and greens. This was partially a Christmas party, she assumed, although Christmas was a pretty superficial holiday for Nephilim. It was more likely that her mother wanted to show her off.

“In a minute, dear,” her mother whispered. She was wearing a dress of magnificent emerald green velvet, hair twisted into an elegant updo.

“Everyone!” Granville bellowed, waving a hand dramatically in the direction of the doorway. “My daughter, Jocelyn!”

Immediately, the partygoers turned to face her, a buzz of excited chatter echoing through the room.

“How beautiful, just like her mother!”

“…First year at the Shadowhunter Academy - you know, she became fast friends with my daughter Kiva-“

Jocelyn managed a small smile and wave, feeling awkward in her Academy sweater and skirt. Surreptitiously, she tried to peek out the east window. In the daylight, she couldn’t tell if the Graymark house looked inhabited or not - she could only barely see its dark stone roof above the treeline. 

“She’s been making quite the impression in Alicante, my daughter!” Granville boomed proudly, crossing the room in a few long strides and steering Jocelyn away from her mother.

“I don’t know about that, Daddy,” she mumbled. 

“Oh, Jocelyn, I’ve been hearing the most wonderful things about you! It’s truly remarkable, the way the news of your schooling has travelled throughout Nephilim society, and even beyond! Later this evening, there’s upstairs something you really must see - a surprise - truly a testament to your work, I assume-”

Jocelyn was scanning the room, automatically tuning out her father’s endless stream of praise. She knew he would continue for hours unless she tore herself away. Fortunately, she caught a glimpse of a boy with curly brown hair standing somewhat awkwardly by the fireplace.

“Sorry, Daddy, I see Michael Wayland over there… I know him from the Academy. I should go say hello.” 

“Of course, darling, of course!”

Jocelyn darted through the crowd, quickly unfastening her cloak - after her mother had greeted her in the foyer, she had been rushed in here so quickly that she hadn’t even had time to remove it. As she reached Michael, she folded it over one arm.

“Hello, Michael.”

He looked up in surprise - he’d been staring into the fire with a quiet intensity. “Oh, hello, Jocelyn!” 

“So…” Jocelyn fussed with the hem of her sweater sleeve. She had known Michael since childhood - aside from the Graymarks, the Waylands were their closest neighbors. He and Robert Lightwood had become _parabatai_ in their early teen years, so he’d often tagged along on Robert’s visits to Fairchild Manor to tutor Jocelyn. Nevertheless, they’d hardly ever spent one-on-one time together.

Michael seemed to notice the awkward silence and smiled. “Did you have a nice trip home?”

Jocelyn snorted before she could stop herself. “I mean… yeah, it was fine.”

His dark eyes were glittering almost playfully. “Fine, huh?”

“Well…” Jocelyn glanced over her shoulder quickly, making sure no one was listening. “Long story, but I ended up getting a ride home with Valentine Morgenstern.”

Michael gave a kind of nervous jolt. “ _Valentine_? By the Angel, Jocelyn…”

“I know, he’s a little intense.” She paused. “Okay, a lot intense. Normally, I wouldn’t get within ten metres of him, but I needed a ride and he offered.”

He laughed a little nervously. “That was polite of him. That’s not surprising, though… he _is_ a polite guy, but I don’t know… he’s got an edge to him, wouldn’t you say?”

“I would say,” Jocelyn said dryly.

“It’s interesting that he’s so popular,” Michael noted. “The girls certainly seem to love him, but I’d imagine that’s just because of his looks.”

“He's handsome,” Jocelyn said automatically, the words spilling from her lips before she realized she had ever thought them. She froze, fingers curling into tight fists. 

Without a word, Michael whipped around so quickly that Jocelyn almost jumped in surprise. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I was just about to ask the same thing.” Michael was staring around the room in bewilderment. “Something must have just happened.”

Jocelyn could sense it too. The room, which had earlier been humming with happy, conversational voices, felt suddenly cold as though someone had extinguished the fire. Small groups of Shadowhunters were hurrying toward the coat closet, pulling on their jackets and muttering quietly. Others stood in clusters around the room. No one appeared to be smiling.

“Excuse me.” Jocelyn reached out to touch the sleeve of a man as he hurried across the room. “Is something wrong?”

“It seems there was a lycanthrope raid somewhere up north,” the man said grimly. “Your father just received word from the Clave. Apparently the raid went poorly, so we’re deploying Nephilim to find out what we can.”

“Werewolves?” Michael exclaimed, a panicky look in his eyes as the man moved to talk to Andrew Lightwood. “By the Angel… wait, Jocelyn, what are you doing?”

Jocelyn was unfurling her green velvet cloak, swinging it around her shoulders. “I’m going to Graymark Manor.”

“You’re not serious. Didn’t you hear what he said? A lycanthrope raid gone wrong…!”

“Yeah, somewhere up north, not here. I’m not scared. I need to talk to Lucian.” 

“Can’t it wait?” 

“Nope.”

Michael watched, flummoxed, as she quickly fastened the cloak. “Well… okay. Be safe out there, okay? Do you have witchlight?”

“I’ll grab one on my way out.” Jocelyn looked over her shoulder toward the wide bay window. The sky was a fuzzy gray-blue, darkening by the minute. “I’ll see you later, Michael.”

 

* * *

 

The chaos was the perfect opportunity to slip out of the house unnoticed. _I should feel badly_ , she thought absently as she plowed through the snowy woods, clutching a witchlight stone in her right hand. The white light cast an eerie glow on the bare trees that lurched and spiralled through the darkness. _Someone might be really hurt. But I need to talk to Lucian_ , she reasoned.

As soon as Graymark Manor came into view, she knew that something was wrong. The windows were dark - it looked like night had fallen inside the house faster than it had outside. The flowerboxes were clogged with snow and the long, winding driveway was entirely unshoveled save for a trail of boot prints leading to the front door. At least someone was home.

Jocelyn sped up, cloak flying out behind her, long hair tangling around her shoulders. She raced around to the front entrance, taking the stairs at a flying leap and pounding on the wooden door with one fist.

“Lucian!” she yelled. “Lucian, are you in there?”

Her voice cut through the silence sharply. High up above her head, a flock of crows rose from the tops of the trees, cawing in alarm. Jocelyn grabbed the brass handle and shoved as hard as she could. The door swung open easily.

A chill shot down her spine. Inside, Graymark Manor was darker than she had ever seen it. Darker and _dustier_ … as she stepped inside, a cloud of gray dust rose from the oriental carpet as though it hadn’t been tred on in months. But that was impossible…

“Lucian?” she called, voice trembling. “Elisabeth?”

There was a loud scraping from the kitchen to her left, and Jocelyn nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn’t thought to bring a seraph blade… why would she need one? Her fingers clamped reflexively around the witchlight as if it would protect her.

And then, almost like a blurry hallucination, Lucian appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“Goddammit!” Jocelyn shrieked. “Are you trying to _kill_ me?”

His hair was disheveled and tangled like he’d been running his hands through it. Slowly, he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It was a world-weary gesture, and a sob caught in Jocelyn’s throat for a reason she couldn’t explain.

“What… what’s happening?”

“Jocelyn…” he said hoarsely, as though he hadn’t spoken in awhile. “I’m sorry-”

“Okay, you need to tell me what’s going on and you need to tell me _now_.” She folded her arms across her chest, trying to hide her shaking hands.

Lucian paused as if he were weighing his options, then sighed, stepping back. “Come in, Joss. Come sit down and I’ll tell you everything.”

Jocelyn walked into the kitchen, never taking her eyes off Lucian. There was something not quite right - but maybe it was just an effect of being in this house when it was so dark and quiet and dirty. Graymark Manor had always been a comforting, warm, inviting place. Never like this.

“I’m sorry for taking your carriage,” Lucian blurted out as Jocelyn sank slowly into a kitchen chair. “That was really wrong of me… it was so stupid, I don’t know. I didn’t think you wanted to see me, so when the carriage arrived I just got in and told your driver that you were coming later with my sister, and that was awful, I should never-”

Jocelyn slammed the witchlight onto the wooden table. “I don’t care about the carriage! Screw the carriage, okay, it doesn’t matter. Lucian, where’s Elisabeth?”

Lucian was still standing in the doorway, face cast in shadow.

“She’s… Jocelyn, you have to understand, I didn’t know, and then when I found out…” His voice broke.

“Just tell me!”

He stepped forward, and she saw with a shock that he was crying. Crying silently, tears spilling over his long lashes and splashing down his face, but crying nonetheless. Out of the two of them, Lucian had never been the crier - that was Jocelyn. A wave of fear washed over her, so powerful that she felt like someone had thrown cold water in her face.

“My mother… she had a really difficult childhood. I don’t know if she ever told you, but she was… well, her family was very poor and not very well-known. None of them were particularly talented or good at anything, but my mother had this amazing strength. She was born like that, she always told me. She just had this inner well of strength she could draw upon when she needed it. Her mother died when she was young, and I know it was awful for her, but somehow… it made her stronger. Everyone was impressed by how mature she was, how she just knew how to carry herself. And then, when she was about seven, her father came up with an idea. He was never a very involved father, I guess, and he was thinking about shipping her off to some Institute somewhere to be raised and tutored and everything. But before he could contact anyone, _he_ was contacted.” 

“By who?” Jocelyn whispered.

Lucian hesitated. “An… alternative place for her to grow up. Her father was enthusiastic, but my mother didn’t want to go there - she wanted to live in an Institute, to be around other children. She ended up running away, finding her way to London and seeking shelter in the Institute - they were under oath to never tell her father where she had gone. She never saw him again. But she didn’t know that her father had pledged her to… this other place. This other group. He’d sworn on the Angel that she would join them. So they kept contacting her, year after year. _I’m not old enough_ , she kept telling them. She kept asking to stay in London to finish her training, to grow up as best as she could. By that point, she had met my father… she knew she wanted to marry him. So when she was about seventeen, she travelled there.”

“Travelled _where_? You’ve gotta give me more here, Lucian-” 

“The Adamant Citadel.” 

Jocelyn went cold. 

“She travelled there,” Lucian repeated, voice trembling only slightly. “And made a deal with them. _I’ll join you, but I want to be married first. I want to have a child. When my child grows up and leaves home, I will come to you_. That’s what she told them.”

“Oh, God…” 

“It was an easy enough plan. She would marry the man she loved, but never have children. She thought she was creating a loophole… a way out. But there was never a way out. Her father had sworn on the Angel. It was set in stone. My parents got married when they were nineteen, and a year later, my mother was pregnant with Amatis.

“She thought she had failed us all. She had a daughter now who she knew she had to abandon. Amatis… she knew about this always.” Was Jocelyn imagining it, or was there a touch of bitterness in Lucian’s voice? “My mother took her to the Adamant Citadel every few years when she was young, begged with them, pleaded with them… they were relentless, wouldn’t hear a word she said. Finally, she gave up, and she started telling Amatis what would happen. That Amatis would essentially… raise me, I guess, when she left. They both hoped that my father would be around, obviously, but after he died, Amatis knew it was only her. That’s why, Joss. That’s why she puts so much pressure on herself. She always knew it was going to be her and me alone.”

Jocelyn tried to speak, but nothing came out. She cleared her throat and tried again. “So… Elisabeth… your mother… she left?”

Lucian nodded slowly. “The night before I left for Alicante, she came into my room and… and told me. She told me to be brave. _Ignis aurum probat_.” He added the Latin as an afterthought, pronouncing each syllable like a vile curse word. “Fire tests gold. That’s what she told me. The next morning…”

“You both left.” Jocelyn finished the sentence so he wouldn’t have to.

“I’ve felt horrible, these past few months. I wanted to tell you…”

Jocelyn rose from her chair like she was moving underwater. Dimly, she was aware of color rushing to her cheeks, of her heart thudding almost painfully inside her chest. She couldn’t even see the kitchen anymore - all she could see was the picture of the Adamant Citadel from her copy of the _Shadowhunter’s Codex_ tattooed inside her eyelids, red and gold with fire, the forges of silvery _adamas_ shaped into carved blades. _When you join the Iron Sisters_ , she remembered Robert telling her as she flipped through a textbook, _you never return. You never return._

“You wanted to tell me,” Jocelyn repeated. Her voice was pure ice. 

“I… I did,” Lucian faltered. “I honestly meant to tell you - I started to tell you sometimes, but you were doing so well in all your classes and everything, and I just… didn’t want to take that away from you-”

“By telling me that your _mother_ was basically _kidnapped_?” Jocelyn’s entire body was shaking. “Lucian, all these months you’ve been lying to my face!”

“I told you, I didn’t want to burden you.”

She stared at Lucian’s miserable face, barely even recognizing him. “You’re never a burden to me! Are you _serious_? We’ve been best friends for, what, eleven years, and you feel like you’re a burden?”

“I was trying to protect you!” His face was slowly draining of color, eyes huge and dark in the dim light. “I was trying to keep you happy, keep you comfortable-”

“Oh, that’s _really_ smart,” she snorted. “Keep me happy for a couple months until I come home and inevitably find out what happened anyway.”

“But it worked, see? You were happy!”

“I’m not happy _now_!” she practically yelled. “By the Angel, Lucian, this is far and away the stupidest thing you’ve _ever_ done. I don’t even want to look at you!”

“Just sit down and maybe-”

“I’m not sitting down, are you crazy? I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to see you in this goddamn empty house-”

“Please, don’t go, please, Joss, come on… let’s just talk about it-”

“I don’t want to talk about it!” Jocelyn exclaimed, and was horrified to realize that tears were welling at the corners of her eyes.

“Sit down!” he barked. Jocelyn froze. She had never seen him that angry before, never. Slowly, she backed up, holding onto the back of one of the wooden kitchen chairs for support.

“Listen to me. You have no idea what it’s been like these past few months. _No idea_. You just floated into the Academy, everyone fell in love with you, you did everything perfectly… I was happy for you, okay? That’s all I ever wanted for you, and that’s exactly what I knew would happen. But I could never do a fraction of what you could do. Nobody even looks twice at me at the Academy. Who would want to associate with someone from a family like mine?” Lucian looked around the empty kitchen, taking a shaky breath. “My family… it’s nothing like yours. It doesn’t even _exist_ anymore. I have nothing. These past months, I’ve just realized that more and more." 

“You didn’t have to push me away,” Jocelyn said quietly.

“I didn’t push you away! We drifted apart, Jocelyn. You made your friends. I kept to myself.”

“That’s completely not true and you know it!”

“I’ve always cared about you, Joss.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve always… loved you. You could never lose me. You were pushing _me_ away, Jocelyn, and I let you. Do you understand?”

Hot tears were streaming down Jocelyn’s face and she brushed them away impatiently. “No, I don’t understand. You don’t even want to _try_ to be there for me! That’s not how _parabatai_ act, Lucian! You’re supposed to be there for me always, but you’ve been ignoring me for-”

“Jocelyn, that’s not-”

“No, you have to let me talk now! I’m sorry you’ve been feeling badly about yourself and I’m sorry that school is hard for you, but that’s not the important thing - the important thing is that you’ve been keeping such a huge secret from me! You know what your mother means to me-”

“She’s not even your mother!”

“She might as well have been!” Jocelyn spat. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the back of the chair. “You _know_ she always took care of me, she cared about me more than my own mother-”

“I tried to tell you so many times-”

“Well, you should’ve tried harder!”

A silence fell upon the kitchen, as sudden as if a curtain had been pulled between them, ending the scene. Lucian was breathing heavily, the sound almost deafening in the quiet. She could feel an angry flush of red spreading across her cheeks. A dim ringing started up in her ears as if her brain was so determined to fill the silence that it was conjuring up imaginary noises. 

Slowly, Jocelyn took a few steps forward, leather boots clicking across the stone floor. With one hand, she reached out - to do what? She wasn’t sure, but it had been so long since Lucian had even looked at her, let alone touched her. Her hand was halfway to his face when the words left her lips, unbidden, automatic.

“ _Whither thou goest, I will-_ ”

He jerked away. “You’re not my _parabatai_.”

Jocelyn froze, hand still outstretched. It was as though he’d slapped her. She let her hand fall back to her side. His back was to her now, shoulders hunched, fists shoved in his pockets. Past him, she could see fat snowflakes dotting the gray sky, piling up in the empty windowboxes.

Valentine’s words floated into her mind - _keep asking him. See what he decides._

Without speaking, she surged forward into the hallway, pushing open the front door and heading out into the endless white. She heard a dull thud from somewhere behind her, almost like he’d kicked something - the kitchen table? And then the door slammed behind her and all she heard were her own footsteps crunching through the fresh snow as she ran, the shaky sobs fighting their way up from the depths of her chest, the steady thumping of her heart reminding her that regardless of how she felt, she was so alive.

 

* * *

 

The knowledge that she would never again speak to Lucian’s mother was visceral, a frantic drum of panic pounding the blood in her ears. Elisabeth, who had always cleaned and bandaged the scrapes on Jocelyn’s knees when she’d tripped. Elisabeth, who had given Jocelyn her very first sketchbook on her eighth birthday. Elisabeth, who had helped her pick out books when Jocelyn had been too small to even reach the shelf - she’d lifted her up to see each leather spine, letting her run her tiny fingers along the bindings. “I want to read your favorite one,” Jocelyn had said, still young enough to idolize everything Lucian’s mother said or did or read.

“That’s probably _Mrs. Dalloway_.” Elisabeth selected a volume, setting Jocelyn down and gently pressing the book into her small hands. “I always thought that if I had a second daughter, I would name her Clarissa.” 

Jocelyn had looked up at her curiously, clutching the book. “Why didn’t you have a second daughter?”

“Because I have you!” she’d said, blue eyes sparkling, reaching out a hand to twirl Jocelyn across the hardwood floor.

Fairchild Manor loomed before her as she charged through the woods, choking on her own tears. She knew she’d scratched herself on the overgrown vines and bramble - her forehead and left hand felt wet with blood - but she didn’t care, pushing on, desperate to get to her own room, to be left alone.

And then there was the ornate front door giving way as she shoved it open, the staircase rising to meet her as she ran - there were voices in the parlor room still, and she heard them buzzing in a dull roar, like the ocean. She raced down the hallway and stumbled into her bedroom at the end of the hall, blinking fast, waiting for her eyes to adjust. Something was wrong. Something was different.

And then she looked up.

The _adamas_ ceiling. When she had left for Alicante, it had been just a small square, just a patch of protection. Tonight, it sparkled as if lit with a glow from heaven itself. The shining blue-white angelic material forged from the Adamant Citadel spread across the ceiling in tendrills, dripping down the walls like strings of diamonds and pearls. It surrounded her, engulfed her, wrapped her in light.

 _I’m sorry,_ the light seemed to say, as she slowly sank to her knees, hands clasped over her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks. _I love you. I’m sorry. Farewell._

 


	9. Lucere

Jocelyn didn’t leave her room all morning. She lay curled on her side on top of her quilt, staring straight ahead as icy rain beat against the window. Her previous anger toward Lucian had evaporated, simmering and shifting into something new, something she couldn’t quite name. It was a feeling that dug persistently at her, like a thought trapped deep within her mind and trying to claw itself out. It settled over her like fog. 

_“I tried to tell you so many times,”_ Lucian had said. And he had. She remembered now, remembered the hesitant look on his face whenever they were alone, remembered how it would softly erase itself the second she started rambling about classes or Maryse or how hungry she was. In her memory, her voice sounded harsh and shrill, and she pictured her words cutting into her best friend like knives. 

She saw herself on that very first day, skipping up the stairs of the Academy toward her new bedroom, cheerfully following Patrick. She heard Lucian’s voice calling after her - really heard it, shaky and worried and afraid - and she remembered how she didn’t even pause, not for a moment. She didn’t even turn around, so in love with herself and her image and her new life that she didn’t care what her best friend was trying to tell her.

She had done this - that was the feeling, she realized now, the sensation that was paralyzing her. Guilt. Shame.

_You’re everything to me_ , she thought miserably. _You’re my whole world. I should have told you that. Why didn’t I ever tell you that?_

It was no wonder that he didn’t want to be _parabatai_ anymore. She wouldn’t want to be _parabatai_ with herself either. The whole point of the ritual was to identify someone who would be your eternal partner in all things - stronger than romantic or familial ties. Your _parabatai_ stood and fought and sometimes even died by your side. Jocelyn, with her ignorance and her narcissism and her awfulness, did not deserve such an honor.

 

* * *

 

 

The manor house was strangely quiet as Jocelyn sat in the parlor, sipping her mug of hot water with lemon. She was still in her nightgown, legs folded beneath her as she listened to the steady drum of rain against the Palladian window. Normally by this hour her father would be banging around his office and her mother would be interrogating her about the Academy, passing judgment about her progress and her training. But all was quiet. Too quiet.

She took another sip and then jumped as a chorus of voices exploded from the back of the house, almost spilling steaming hot water all over her lap.

“…coincides what the Clave has been saying for years! There’s an inherent danger there, Granville. You can’t deny it.”

Granville Fairchild sighed heavily, footsteps echoing. It sounded as if he were with a whole group of people. “Andrew, there is an inherent danger in many things, but that doesn’t mean we should disregard the Accords. They exist for a reason.”

“Be that as it may, it’s imperative that we not take this situation lightly,” another male voice chimed in.

“Of course we won’t take it lightly,” Adele snapped. “People have died. This situation should never have gone so poorly.”

_People have died?_ Jocelyn, certain that this was a conversation she would never be permitted to hear, leapt off the sofa and darted behind a large potted plant in the corner just as the group entered the room. She hugged her knees to her chest, determined to make herself as small as possible.

“We need to face realities, then,” the first voice boomed. Peering through the leaves, Jocelyn identified the speaker as Andrew Lightwood, Robert’s father. He had the same dark coloring and intimidating stature as his son. “Similar situations will undoubtedly arise in the future. It may be time to revise our standard protocol.”

“Now, I hardly think that will be necessary!” Granville chuckled, shaking his head.

“It’s not a laughing matter, Granville,” Adele said, lowering herself dramatically onto the sofa Jocelyn had just vacated. Both of her parents were dressed in pure white, she noted, her stomach churning. Her mother’s dress was the color of freshly fallen snow. A sudden image flashed up in her memory like a projector screen coming to life: herself and Amatis as young girls, skipping rope in the Graymark’s back garden. She heard their little voices chanting, giggling, breathless -

_“Black for hunting through the night,_

_For death and sorrow, the color’s white._ ”

“Of course it’s not a laughing matter,” Granville said, suddenly serious. “His poor wife and child… such an upstanding family, a noble family. It’s a terrible tragedy.” 

“Speaking of which, we should really be going,” said the second man - Michael Wayland’s father, Jocelyn thought. “Seraphina must be distraught. Cora took our carriage up to their manor early this morning to check on her.”

“Yes, it’s all very sad,” Adele sighed. “I’ll wake up Jocelyn and make sure she looks presentable. I’ve barely had the chance to speak with her since she arrived home, given the situation last night. She’ll probably be irritated with me.”

“And the sun will probably rise tomorrow,” Granville said blithely.

“That girl of yours,” Samuel Wayland said, the corners of his mouth quirking up. “Michael speaks of her often. Says she’s a delight.”

“Well, that’s wonderful to hear!” Granville exclaimed, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “We did have our concerns.”

“Oh, Granville, no, we didn’t,” Adele waved him off. “She’s a lively child. Spirited. We’ve always known that.”

“Is she friendly with the Morgenstern boy?” Andrew Lightwood asked.

“You know, I’m not sure. I believe she mentioned him in a letter or two.”

“Maybe I should go upstairs and break the news to her, Adele,” said Granville, running a hand through his hair. “If young Valentine is a school friend of hers, the news of his father’s death could-” 

Jocelyn’s mug slipped through her fingers and clattered to the ground.

“Jocelyn Charlotte!” Adele exclaimed, leaping to her feet.

“Lively, indeed,” Samuel muttered to Andrew.

Stepping over the small pile of shattered china and puddle of water, Jocelyn emerged from behind the plant. She knew she ought to be embarrassed, standing in front of her parents’ friends in just her cotton nightgown, but the rational part of her brain didn’t seem to be working properly.

“Valentine’s father died?”

“Sweetheart, that’s hardly how I wanted you to find out,” Granville said, crossing the room in a few long strides. When he reached his daughter, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. “You know the saying - eavesdroppers never hear anything pleasant.”

“What happened?” She thought back to the previous night and the words _lycanthrope raid_ flickered before her eyes. “It… was it the werewolves?”

“A raid on a lycanthrope pack.” Adele folded her arms across her chest. “It was supposed to be just typical routine, but apparently something went wrong. Cyril Morgenstern and a handful of others were killed.”

The sinking feeling in Jocelyn’s stomach reminded her horribly of one morning when she was thirteen, the morning she’d learned of Lucian’s father’s death. Granville had come into her room so early that the sky outside was still a fuzzy blue and sat on her bed, holding her while she cried. His death had been unexpected as well - a routine trip out of the country, something that was done a thousand times. What would it be like, she wondered, to grow up without the fear of watching your parents leave the house and knowing they might never come back again?

“You may accompany us to the funeral, of course, darling,” Granville said as he gently guided Jocelyn from the room. She felt like she was sleepwalking. The idea of putting on a white dress and sitting out in the biting December air watching Valentine’s father’s body burn made her feel sick.

“I don’t know, Daddy. Would it be alright if I stayed home?”

As they reached the staircase, he turned to smile down at her. “Of course. I understand.”

“Thank you.” She combed her fingers through her tangled hair, staring down at her bare feet. “I think I just want to spend the day reading in my room.”

“Yes, darling, of course - you’ll want to keep up with your studies over the break! And your bedroom is the perfect place to do that. I assume you like your gift?”

Jocelyn paused, one foot on the bottom stair. “Sorry?”

“Your gift, Jocelyn! Courtesy of the Adamant Citadel. We were contacted shortly after you departed for the Academy - I had been thinking about purchasing more _adamas_ , but when they offered to supply enough to adorn your entire room-!”

“Oh!” In all the chaos, Jocelyn had almost forgotten. “Right. I… yeah, it’s beautiful.”

“You must be making quite the impression in Alicante, sweetheart. Not that I expected anything else!”

She shrugged, unsure of what to say.

“Well, your friends should be impressed, surely. Would you like to invite them over for Christmas this year?”

_Friends_? Jocelyn bit her lip. “Lucian and Amatis?”

“Yes, of course. And any other friends of yours. Mother and I would love to meet your classmates. We thought perhaps you’d like to have your very own Christmas party.”

“Uh… sure. Sure, I’ll invite them. Thanks, Daddy.”

Back in her room, Jocelyn sat on her bed twirling her stele between her fingers. Even though it was now early afternoon, the sky outside was still gray and bleak; her room glowed steadily with a reassuring white-blue. There were too many unanswered questions, she thought in frustration. Was she supposed to tell Amatis and Lucian about what their mother had done for her? Did she even _want_ to see her two friends again? She’d treated Lucian horribly and Amatis had been flat-out lying to her for years. If she invited them to a party, would they even want to come? And who else was she supposed to invite? Maddy and Michael, for sure, but the others… did she really want to spend time with Robert or Maryse outside of school? She could hardly invite Valentine, since he’d certainly want to be with his mother, but it seemed cruel to exclude him.

She sighed loudly, flopping back against her pillows. Life had been easier when she’d only had two friends.

Downstairs, she heard the unmistakable thud of the front door closing. Her parents, off to the funeral. Jocelyn’s eyes fluttered closed as she pictured the body of Valentine’s father - what did he look like? Tall and insanely blond, probably - lying still as stone on the pyre, eyes wrapped with white silk, seraph blade placed in his right hand. These ceremonies were Shadowhunter rites of passage… she’d been to her first one as a toddler, although she could barely remember it, and it seemed like she had attended at least three every year since. And those were just the people who had been killed in battle, in raids. Those were the people whose bodies had been found. Some, like Elisabeth, disappeared without a word; dust through the wind, shadows across the floor. It wasn’t right, she thought. It wasn’t fair to be only sixteen and constantly saying permanent goodbyes.

She rolled over onto her back, stared up at the glowing ceiling, and let her mind go somewhere she usually fought desperately against: the mundane world. A world without weapons of angel-wrought metal, black sweeping runes of despair, horrific demon creatures seeping steadily through dimensions to wreak havoc. She had seen this world occasionally on family excursions to London, Paris, Madrid… she knew it was out there. The planet was full of sixteen-year-old girls who went to school and chatted with friends and never once worried about seeing the bodies of their loved ones sprawled in pools of blood and ichor.

Jocelyn chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. It was a tempting thought, leaving the pain and terror of this world, but at the same time, she couldn’t bear to leave it all behind.

 

* * *

 

 

Predictably, the weeks leading up to Jocelyn’s Christmas party were marked by frequent arguments between her and her mother. While Adele might have wanted to put on a glamorous green and red dress and sashay around the room passing out hors d’oeuvres, the thought of wearing heels for more than an hour made Jocelyn want to be violently ill. She had just _seen_ her classmates two weeks ago, she protested - she didn’t need to summon them back to Fairchild Manor for another formal ritual. In a surprising turn of events, or possibly as a Christmas gift to her daughter, Adele relented. Jocelyn was permitted to host a sleepover party in the formal living room for as many girlfriends as she wanted. This, of course, amounted to a grand total of two.

It was snowing on the day after Christmas. Fat white flakes drifted to the ground as if someone was sprinkling the countryside with powdered sugar, and Jocelyn and Amatis watched from the living room, perched next to each other in a bay window that looked out over the back garden. The sky was slate gray and cold. 

“Can I tell you something?” Amatis asked almost shyly. She’d been acting weird for awhile, Jocelyn thought. There was, of course, the fact that she had clearly spoken to Lucian about the fight; Jocelyn could see it in the set of her mouth, the dark circles under her eyes. It would not be discussed. She could tell, and for this, she was grateful.

“Of course.”

Amatis opened her mouth and then snapped it shut again. “You have to promise not to tell, okay?”

“Amatis, I’m not going to tell.”

She fidgeted with her hair, pulling it over one shoulder. “What do you think of Stephen Herondale?”

“That’s what you wanted to tell me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She rolled her eyes. “Just checking. So… Stephen Herondale. Blonde. Cute. Crazy parents.”

Amatis laughed, turning to look out across the snowy yard, which was gradually turning blue and purple in the twilight. A flush was creeping across her pale cheeks; even in the low light, Jocelyn could tell.

“Oh my God. Amatis, you like Stephen?”

“I’m not twelve,” she muttered, but she was smiling.

“No, when you were twelve you were in love with Michael Wayland. This is way more exciting.” Jocelyn readjusted herself on the window seat, crossing her legs beneath her. “So tell me everything, okay? When did this start? Oh, wait - is _that_ why you stayed in Alicante so long? I can’t _believe_ I didn’t-”

Amatis shushed her frantically. There was some kind of commotion in the front hall - a door slamming and voices chattering.

“Jocelyn, be quiet, okay? That’s Madeleine.”

“You don’t want her to know?”

“There’s… there’s really nothing to know.”

“Then why can’t we talk about it?” 

“Because!” Amatis smacked Jocelyn’s arm in frustration, then hopped off the window before she could retaliate. “Come on, let’s go.”

Jocelyn complied, but hurried after her friend so closely that she was practically tripping over her heels. “But does he like you too?” 

“I… yes, I guess.”

“Have you guys kissed?” Jocelyn was bouncing on her tiptoes now, careful to keep her voice low.

Amatis was silent, careful to stare straight ahead as they crossed the room, but her half-smile and the pink blush spreading determinedly across her cheekbones betrayed her.

“You _kissed_?!” Jocelyn shrieked, completely forgetting herself, at the exact moment that Maddy came around the corner with a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

“Who kissed?” she asked, eagerly jumping into the excitement.

Amatis sank to the floor, brown hair pooling around her shoulders as she covered her face with her hands.

“Stephen Herondale and Amatis!” 

“You’re kidding me!” Maddy burst out laughing and got down on her knees to pry Amatis’s hands from her bright red face. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Amatis was laughing too now, rolling across the oriental carpet and out of Maddy’s reach.

“Get her!” Jocelyn dove to the floor, scrambling after Amatis as she got to her feet and ran back across the living room.

“So tell us everything,” Maddy said loudly over the commotion, collapsing on the couch as Jocelyn continued to chase Amatis around the room. “When’s the wedding? Will you live in his manor house or yours?” 

Jocelyn caught Amatis in a loose hug, accidentally slamming both of them into a wide bookshelf that spanned the far wall. “Neither, we’re all going to live together.”

“Oh, that’s right, I forgot,” Maddy snorted.

“Girls? What is going on in here?”

Adele had suddenly appeared in the doorway. Jocelyn and Amatis sprang apart like shrapnel, and even Maddy sat up straighter, folding her hands neatly in her lap.

“Nothing, Mother. Just getting reacquainted." 

“Lovely.” Adele nodded curtly in Amatis’s direction, her typical sign of acknowledgement to someone she deemed an unworthy friend for her daughter, but at least this time she added a tight smile. “Would you mind getting reacquainted at a slightly lower decibel?”

“We’re sorry, Adele,” Maddy said, getting to her feet and smoothing out her skirt. As always, she was impeccably dressed in shades of pale gray and white, her long hair perfectly plaited. If any of the three girls was going to be a spokesperson, Maddy was the obvious choice. 

Jocelyn’s mother clacked across the floor briskly in her tall heeled boots. “Ah, Madeleine, correct?”

“Yes.” Maddy smiled politely, extending a hand. “It’s wonderful to see you again.” 

“And you as well.”

“Have you guys been hanging out behind my back again?” Jocelyn asked, eyebrows raised. As far as she knew, the two had never met.

“I met your friend Madeleine at Cyril Morgenstern’s funeral,” Adele said smoothly. “Surely I told you this, Jocelyn.”

“You know me. In one ear and out the other.”

“It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn’t it?” Adele asked Madeleine.

Maddy faltered. “Well… it was very sad. But… yes, beautiful in a way.”

“Well, I’ll leave you girls to your fun. To your _quiet_ fun, Jocelyn.” 

Jocelyn wrinkled her nose and gave an exaggerated curtsy as her mother swept out of the room. Amatis giggled.

“What’s the deal with you and your mom?” Maddy asked, sitting back down. She spoke in a low voice as if Adele could hear through walls - which, admittedly, Jocelyn had occasionally wondered. 

“Don’t get her started,” Amatis advised, taking a seat on the couch next to Maddy. Jocelyn arranged herself on the carpet at their feet. 

“Yeah, nobody cares about my boring family drama. Maddy, I didn’t know you went to Valentine’s father’s funeral?”

“Well, yes. My parents wanted to go. Where were you, Jocelyn?” 

She looked down at the carpet, studying it as if she’d never seen it before. “I was having a rough week.” 

“It’s okay,” Maddy said kindly. “You didn’t miss anything… you know how those things are.”

“How did Valentine seem?” Amatis asked.

“You know, quiet. Like you’d expect. He’s just…” Maddy trailed off, apparently searching for the most suitable adjective, and gave a kind of involuntary shiver.

“Terrifying beyond belief?” Jocelyn supplied.

“I was thinking more like _cold_ , but sure.”

“I wonder if his father’s death is going to make him even worse,” Amatis said quietly.

Maddy shrugged. “He definitely seemed more withdrawn at the funeral, but I didn’t go up and talk to him or anything. There was no need to. He was surrounded by his whole group.”

“What whole group?” Jocelyn asked. She thought back to the small circle of students gathered in the practice yard in the middle of the night, how ominous they had appeared from her bedroom window at the Academy. Were they actually Valentine’s friends now? She’d assumed they were just mildly interested in what he had to say.

“Oh, you know… Robert, Patrick, Maryse, Celine, Hodge…”

“Hodge Starkweather?” Amatis frowned. “I didn’t know they were friends.”

“Well, they were definitely on speaking terms. The whole lot of them… I don’t know, it’s strange. They move together in a pack.”

“Like goats,” Jocelyn suggested.

“Sheep, more like,” Maddy said darkly. “I don’t know… I get a strange feeling about them. Especially Maryse, you know? I’m worried she’s trying to attach herself to Valentine.”

“Why would she do that?” Amatis wanted to know.

“Because of the thing with her brother. Jocelyn, you must know about Maryse’s family, right? You two have talked about it?” 

Jocelyn snorted. “Um, no. We’ve had, like… one full conversation our entire time as roommates. And that ended with her asking me to join Valentine’s merry band of followers.”

“She _never_ said anything about her brother?” Maddy asked, incredulous.

“No! Well… okay, I think she said something about someone in her family making bad choices. Was that her brother?”

“Her brother married a mundane,” Maddy said without preamble, and Amatis and Jocelyn gasped. “Maryse had been really close to him… I’ve known the Truebloods for most of my life, and I remember when she and Max used to talk about becoming _parabatai_. They’re about five years apart, so there was only a small window of time when they could do the ritual. They were all prepared for it… Maryse was all excited. And then Max met this girl, and it was all over.”

“No _way_ ,” Jocelyn breathed.

“So he’s been exiled?” Amatis looked pained.

“Stripped of his Marks and exiled. Even worse.”

“The Truebloods… I think my mother and father have talked about them,” said Jocelyn. “They don’t live in Idris, do they? I remember Mother saying something about them leaving the country?”

“Right. After Max’s exile, they shipped Maryse off to the Academy and then they moved to London. You can imagine… they didn’t want to be around so many other Nephilim.”

Jocelyn chewed her bottom lip. “So this whole Valentine thing. You think Maryse is clinging to Valentine because he might bump up her social status? Win back some family honor or something?”

“That’s exactly what I think." 

“Well, that’s dumb. The adults aren’t going to care who she’s hanging out with.”

“Aren’t they? Your parents seem to care an awful lot, Jocelyn,” Amatis said shrewdly. “I think these kinds of things matter more to the adults than we think they do. If Maryse is seen with a boy from a respected family, that makes it look like she’s doing really well at the Academy. It makes it clear that she’s the good child, I guess. That the Truebloods didn’t just produce a bunch of failure children.”

“Damn.” Jocelyn patted Amatis on the knee. 

“Yeah, I think that’s what’s going on,” Maddy said. “It’s sad, you know? Maryse is really talented. She doesn’t need to reduce herself to this.” 

“I can’t _believe_ I still have to room with her for the rest of the school year.”

“Well, why don’t you try to get her to hang out with us?” Maddy suggested. “I wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t think that’ll work,” said Amatis, cutting Jocelyn off before she could explode. “She’s got it into her head that she needs to do this for her reputation… that’s what it seems like, at least. She’s not going to start palling around with us when she can be seen with a Morgenstern.”

“ _And_ it seems like Valentine has a pretty good hold over these people. The Angel knows why, but he definitely does,” Jocelyn sighed. “It’s like he’s gathering up all the needy people. Hodge, Maryse…” 

An uneasy silence settled over the room. Talking about Valentine made it almost feel like he was present, a heavy fog seeping through cracks in the windows and chilling them to the bone.

“Oh, Jocelyn, I almost forgot!” Amatis exclaimed suddenly. “What happened when Valentine gave you a ride home from Alicante?”

“He gave you a ride?” Maddy’s mouth opened in a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.

“It wasn’t really a big deal.” Jocelyn shrugged. She wanted to say something about their conversation - it had been meaningless at the time, but now, when she thought back on the things he’d said about his father, she felt a slight chill run down her spine. He’d said all those things without knowing that his father would be killed in a matter of hours. That didn’t seem like her secret to share. She opened her mouth, not sure of what to say, but then -

“Jocelyn?”

Her head snapped up, her heart skipped a few beats. Lucian stood in the entranceway, snowflakes sprinkled through his dark hair, curling it down past his ears. His cheeks were rosy from the cold and he was eyeing the room nervously, not quite wanting to look at Jocelyn.

She stood up slowly, only semi-aware that her friends had stopped talking and were watching intently. 

“Why are you here?” 

He winced as if she’d slapped him. “Oh. Sorry, I’ll just… I didn’t mean to…” 

“No! I mean… hi. Is what I meant to say.”

“Oh,” he said again, and smiled, ducking his head sheepishly. “Hi.”

Jocelyn hurried across the room toward him, absently wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans. When she reached Lucian, she grabbed hold of his gray shirt sleeve and tugged him down the hallway; he tripped after her and the motion felt so familiar, so reminiscent of all the years she’d pushed him around as kids, that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Get in,” she said, shoving her best friend unceremoniously into the study before stepping inside after him and closing the heavy wooden door behind her. She stood there for a moment, back to the door, still holding onto the ornate brass handle. Her heart was still thudding steadily but fast, and she remembered the time she’d caught a baby rabbit in the back garden when she was about seven. She’d cradled it in her hands, stroking it and whispering soothing things to calm it down, but regardless she’d felt its heart thumping so frantically that it was difficult to distinguish separate beats. It was a continuous thrumming sound, and that was her right now, frantic, nerves fraying to their breaking point, ribcage cracking with the weight of her heart.

Lucian stood nervously by the dark wooden desk, brushing fast-melting snow from his hair. She’d always liked the way his hair curled in the rain - hers just got frizzy. His glasses had slid down his nose and she resisted the urge to charge across the room and push them back up.

She was acutely aware of the fact that they had not seen each other in two weeks. It was rare for them to go a day without seeing each other. Before they’d moved to Alicante, Jocelyn had left periodically on trips with her family throughout Europe, but Lucian had never been far from her mind. She’d brought him books – old leather volumes from the shelves of Parisian cafes, first editions from shops in Dublin -- and inscribed each one with the date, month, and year.

“Do you remember when I gave you that book about Latin verbs?”

Lucian frowned. He removed his glasses and cleaning them with the hem of his cotton shirt. “I… yeah. We were, what, nine? Ten?” 

“I think so. I had just gotten back from Rome with Mother. She only let me buy the book because I said some crap about how it was going to further my education.”

“I can’t believe she took you seriously.”

“Do you remember the part I underlined for you?” Jocelyn asked, finally letting go of the doorknob but unsure of what to do with her hands. After a moment of fidgeting with her hair, she folded her arms across her chest.

Lucian seemed to think for a moment, but then his face relaxed into a smile. “ _Lucere. Luco, luci, luce, luciamo_. You circled the definition.” 

“ _To bring light_.” Jocelyn leaned against the door, her back smacking into the wood. She was determined to look anywhere in the room except at him.

“Why are you talking about this now?”

“I thought it was so funny when I read that definition. I remember… I remember thinking, _that’s what he does for me_. If I could’ve named you, that’s what I would’ve picked.” 

She paused, focusing her gaze on the window straight ahead. Through it, she saw that the flurries had stopped, leaving the outside world looking as if someone had shook up a snow globe.

“Joss…” he said softly. “I didn’t mean… I’m really sorry…” 

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault. You didn’t do anything. I was… I _am…_ the awful one.”

“You’re not awful!” 

“Thanks,” she said hollowly. “But I am. I should’ve never yelled at you like that. I shouldn’t have left you all alone in that house… I should’ve invited you over and let you move into my room or something. I don’t know why I didn’t do it. I should’ve-”

“Will you quit talking about what you should and shouldn’t have done?” Lucian shook his head. “It’s over. It’s done.” 

“I’m sorry, though.” She took a few steps into the room, closing part of the distance between them. 

“I know you are. It’s okay.”

“I don’t treat you very well.”

“Joss, you’re my best friend.”

“But not your _parabatai_.”

Lucian sighed, shifting to lean against the desk. “Jocelyn…”

“You don’t want to be my _parabatai,_ do you?” she asked quietly.

“It’s not that I don’t _want_ to…”

“But you don’t.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Okay, but…” Jocelyn bit her lip, not wanting to start another fight. “But our whole lives, we were going to be _parabatai_. I was banking on it. Remember how we always talked about it?” 

“Of course I remember, Joss, but I was a kid. Little kids deciding stuff like that is… I don’t know… do you ever think about how dangerous that is?” 

“It’s not dangerous!” she laughed. “It’s nice! It’s a tradition.”

“It’s nice to chain yourself to someone for the rest of your life? What if something goes wrong? Look what happened to my mother, Jocelyn. What if we became _parabatai_ and then something like that happened to you?” 

“I’m not going to become an Iron Sister, Lucian.” 

“No, but one of us could be exiled. One of us could be stripped of our Marks. One of us could die. One of us could…” he caught his breath and shook his head to clear it as though the thoughts occurring to him were too horrible to share. Jocelyn wondered what could be worse than death. “It’s just not a good idea. I just don’t want to do it.”

“You don’t want to be around me forever?” Jocelyn tried to say it lightly, but by his expression, she could tell that the hurt still showed on her face.

“Of _course_ I do, Joss. You know I do.” He took several quick steps toward her before stopping suddenly, bouncing on the balls of his feet about ten inches away from her. “We can still be best friends without being _parabatai_.”

“Okay.”

“You’re not upset?”

“I mean, I’m _sad_. I was always planning on this. You know that.”

He paused, then nodded.

“But I’m not gonna force you to change your mind. I guess… I kind of felt it too. I knew you didn’t really want this.”

“I did want it, once,” he said. “I want you to know that.”

“I do know it.”

“It’s better this way. You don’t want to be stuck with somebody like me anyway.” He laughed, but it didn’t carry all the way to the rest of his face.

Jocelyn was struck suddenly by how much older he looked, how the blues of his eyes seemed so much more like grays. She thought back to the younger Lucian - the version of him that had wanted to do everything she did, go where she went, read the books she loved, memorize the songs she liked. This had pleased her sometimes and annoyed her the rest of the time. _Can’t you just do something without waiting for me to approve it?_ she’d wanted to yell a million times. But now, reality stung like a cold water slap to the face. This Lucian, quieter and more assured, sitting in front of her saying he wouldn’t be her _parabatai_ … she had never imagined he would even exist.

“Ugh, Lucian, come on. I hate this self-deprecating stuff.”

“We’re not having another one of _these_ conversations.”

“Look, if you’re gonna feel badly about yourself, that’s your prerogative; I can’t change that,” she said, running a hand through her tangled hair. “But I can tell you this: everything I ever told you about how amazing you are, how special… that was all true. And I should have done more. You deserve the best. You deserve a best friend who will raise you up, not constantly drag you down and tear you up and leave you alone.” 

Lucian swallowed with some difficulty. “You’re still my best friend, Joss. I never meant for this to change anything… and I _definitely_ never meant for you to start hating yourself. That’s not right.” 

“I don’t hate myself,” Jocelyn said, but her voice trembled.

Lucian watched her with concern. “You better not. That would be crazy.” 

“I’m just mad at myself. I’ll forgive myself eventually.”

“I know you will. Because to you, insecurity is weakness, and Jocelyn Fairchild is anything but weak.” Lucian grinned. 

She half-smiled, unable to meet his eyes. It was uncomfortable to look head-on at someone who knew you so painfully well.

“Anyway… I just came here because I wanted you to know that I’m still your best friend. I’m _always_ your best friend, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I would hate to think that moving to Alicante ruined everything.”

“It didn’t, okay? It’ll all be different when we go back. I won’t brush you off anymore. Hey, I can even help you out! We could do our own training sessions or something. And we’d be _working,_ so nobody could tell us to stop.” 

Lucian laughed. “That sounds good.”

“I don’t want you to think you’re not a good Shadowhunter,” she said quietly.

She was going to say more, but he shifted, hands in the pockets of his jeans, and suddenly she was horrifically aware of how close he was to her. Why was that weird? They’d slept in the same bed since they were six.

“I didn’t just come here to get you to feel sorry for me,” he mumbled.

“No?” Jocelyn stared up at him - for most of their lives they had been roughly the same height, but he must have hit a growth spurt during the fall that she hadn’t noticed. In order to look him in the eye, she had to tilt her head up. She could see every freckle on his face, the chip on the black frames of his glasses from the time she’d pushed him into the brook when they were eight.

“I got you something for Christmas.”

She jolted, taking a step back. “Oh, shit. I didn’t get you anything.”

“It’s fine,” he laughed, pulling a tiny silver box out of his pocket. It was unwrapped, but in the low light it seemed to shimmer and sparkle.

“What is it?”

“Why do you _always_ ask that when people give you presents? You’re about to find out in three seconds anyway.”

Jocelyn snatched the box out of his hands, inspecting it carefully before lifting the tiny lid. She let it drop to the floor as she slowly pulled out the long silver chain. Attached to it was a small oval carved ornately with arching cursive letters… initials?

“It was my mother’s,” Lucian shrugged. “Amatis thought maybe you’d want it.”

“Amatis did, huh?”

“Well, I thought Amatis would want it, so I gave it to her, but she has enough of Mom’s stuff, so she told me maybe I should put it in a box for you-”

Jocelyn grinned, winding the chain through her fingers. “I _love_ it, Lucian. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He jammed his hands back into his pockets.

“Can you help me put it on?”

“You want to put it on now?”

“Yeah, otherwise I’ll lose it. It’s a _necklace_ , Lucian. You’re supposed to wear it, not leave it lying around.”

“Fine.”

He thrust out a hand and she placed the necklace into it, gathering her long, thick hair to lift it off her neck. She turned so her back was to him.

“It’s a locket, actually. So you can put stuff in it. If you want. I mean, not _stuff,_ it doesn’t hold _things_ , it’s for… pictures. And stuff.”

“I know what a locket is.” She smiled, pleased that he couldn’t see her face.

“And it’s pure silver. It’s probably pretty expensive.” He seemed to be taking great care not to touch her neck as he fumbled with the clasp. “So if you don’t like it, I mean, you can always sell it or whatever. Not that you need the money. I mean - I didn’t mean-”

“Shut up.”

“Okay.” He fell silent. Jocelyn’s shoulders shook with barely concealed laughter. She bit her lip. 

Then the door flew open with a bang like a thunderclap. Lucian leapt away from her and she felt the clasp unlock, the chain sliding down her chest. She caught the locket in one hand, staring at the figure that had just appeared in the doorway, illuminated by the silvery-blue witchlight lamps.

A sleek, icy voice cut through the air. “Well, how intimate.”


	10. Condemned

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates in one week?! What is GOING ON? Well, NaNoWriMo, actually. Let's hope this will be a new trend for me.
> 
> A couple quick things: 1) I have an 8tracks mix for this story which I listen to on repeat while writing, so I thought I might share it with you guys. Search 'gallifreyedjeans' on 8tracks to find it! 2) Many thanks to Cassandra Jean for inspiring the last scene of this chapter (she basically drew this scene, but it's tragically not letting me put the link here. It's on Cassie's blog if you're interested!) 3) Thank you guys so, so much for reading and bearing with me when it takes me forever to update! Feel free to get in touch with me on tumblr (i'm isabelllelightwood) and ask questions, bug me if I'm not posting a new chapter quickly enough, etc. Seriously, I don't mind.

 

**Chapter Ten**

There he was in all his glory: pale and white and terrifying as a falling star, dressed in full Shadowhunter battle gear that gave him the look of being swallowed up by midnight itself. His face could have been cut from marble; Jocelyn flashed back uncomfortably to the sketches in her textbooks of avenging angels, unforgiving and cold. Valentine Morgenstern, somehow, was vengeance personified.

"So lovely to see you both here," he said smoothly. The statement coming from another person's lips might have seemed warm, but Jocelyn felt as though the glass had somehow been removed from the windowpanes, driving the icy wind from the barren fields into the cozy lamplit study.

"Well, it  _is_ my house." Jocelyn stood up straighter.

"Indeed," he nodded, crossing the room at such a sudden speed that Jocelyn actually jolted backward. Lucian grabbed her by the elbow to steady her. "I was heading back to Alicante with my school things when I remembered that your home conveniently lies along my route. I thought I would stop by and offer my thanks to Granville and Adele, as they so kindly attended my father's memorial."

"Oh. Yeah. See…" Jocelyn felt like her blood was turning to ice. Reflexively, she leaned back a little closer to Lucian; he seemed to be radiating warmth. His hand still gripped her elbow, but slid up slightly, fingers wrapping protectively around her upper arm.

"I was disappointed not to see  _you_ there, Jocelyn."

"I'm so, so sorry about your father. Really. And I'm even more sorry that I couldn't be at the memorial."

Valentine smiled, inclining his head. "Well, I'm sure you had a good reason for being away."

"Oh, I did. A great reason. See, basically, I-"

"No need!" He held up a hand. "No need to make excuses, Jocelyn. It matters not. Many of our classmates attended. I was not alone."

"Well… good," she said, somewhat lamely.

He spun neatly on his heels to fully face Lucian.

"Graymark, I also don't recall seeing you."

"Ah…" Lucian stammered. Jocelyn felt him tense behind her. "No. But I'm so very sorry for your loss."

"Thank you, Lucian. I wouldn't have expected you to come. I'm sure you two were very…" Valentine eyed them carefully, dark eyes sliding up from Lucian's hand on Jocelyn's arm to the trapped expressions on their faces. "...Preoccupied."

Lucian let go of Jocelyn so quickly it was as if he'd been burned. He stepped around her, particularly obscuring her from view.

"I really am very sorry, Valentine. I, too, lost my father. Several years ago. It's a terrible burden to bear."

"That it is," Valentine said, still watching them with an expression almost like bemusement working its way onto his face, twisting his porcelain features.

Jocelyn narrowed her eyes, moving to stand at Lucian's side.

"Is that what you came here for, Valentine? You wanted us to express our sympathies? Because we have. Is there something more that you want?"

Again, his expression changed. It was as if someone had wiped a chalkboard clean of nasty, profane, messy scribbles, slowly beginning again with innocent swirls and stars. "Of course. It's Christmas, Jocelyn. You could hardly think I'd come here empty-handed."

Jocelyn let her arms fall to her sides. "Excuse me?"

Wordlessly, he withdrew a small, slim package from the pocket of his loose-fitting black jacket. It was a strange sense of deja vu; Lucian had just basically done the same exact thing, but the gesture was so different when performed by Valentine. His movements were shorter, sharper, more violent, like he might lash out at any minute. She had no desire to approach him, to step into the eye of the storm. Noticing this, Valentine made a great show of walking past Lucian to set the package dramatically on the desk. He turned to face Jocelyn, eyes glittering in the silver witchlight that permeated the room as it grew darker outside.

"I don't want anything you have to offer," Jocelyn said before he could speak.

"It's a gift, Jocelyn. Not a threat. I simply wanted to wish you a merry Christmas."

"Well,  _thaaank_  you," she said, copying his overly exaggerated manner of speaking. Next to her, Lucian snorted.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like a ride back to Alicante?"

Jocelyn opened her mouth to respond, but Lucian cut in derisively. "Why would she want a ride with  _you_?"

"I wouldn't," she said softly, and Lucian whirled to face her.

"Why would he think you would?"

She flinched. "I don't… I don't know, okay?"

"Ah!" Valentine settled back on his heels, surveying the scene as if he were watching a polo match. "I see. Jocelyn failed to tell you-"

"Let me just stop you right there. Starting a sentence with 'Jocelyn failed' is not a good way to get me on your side."

"On my side?" Valentine cocked his head, but the razor sharp focus of his gaze convinced Jocelyn that he knew exactly what she was talking about. She plunged ahead anyway.

"Your side. You know? Your little gang. Your little fan club."

Valentine chuckled. "I'm afraid I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Fine, play dumb, it doesn't matter. I don't care about your stupid gang of self-professed 'badasses,'" she said, making exaggerated air quotes. "I'm not going to hang out with you anymore. The carriage ride was a favor, okay? I needed a favor. It's over. It doesn't mean we're suddenly best friends-"

"I hope you enjoy your gift, Jocelyn," Valentine said, cutting in effortlessly. His voice was calm, serene, almost as if he were oblivious to the angst he was causing her.

With her arms crossed, Jocelyn looked slowly and deliberately between Valentine's face and the box on the desk. It was wrapped in some kind of hideous gold paper. She looked back at him, refusing to say a word.

"I'll show you out, Valentine?" Lucian probably meant this to come out as a command, but his voice wavered. This didn't go unnoticed by Valentine, who turned to Lucian with one eyebrow raised.

"That won't be necessary, Lucian. But thank you for your kind offer."

He bowed deeply, and somehow this gesture was the most insulting so far. Jocelyn felt a wave of anger simmering in the pit of her stomach, a sudden rush of heat spreading to her face.

"Get out of my house," she snapped, and then, as an afterthought, "...Please."

The tension in the room was thick as late night fog. Politely, Valentine nodded once more to the pair of them, then retreated, pompous and as always. Jocelyn heard a frantic pitter-patter of bare feet on wood and she realized with a pang that it must be Amatis and Maddy, fleeing the scene after eavesdropping. Valentine either didn't notice them or didn't care. His steps echoed like thunderclaps through the empty hall, and he disappeared almost instantly into darkness, his Shadowhunter gear blending seamlessly into the black.

Jocelyn and Lucian stood for a moment, hardly daring to look at each other. She realized she was still clutching the locket in her fist, and she unfurled her fingers slowly, staring down at the small silver oval in her palm. It was then that she realized how intently Lucian was watching her.

Heart still pounding from the surprise encounter with Valentine, she whirled around, smacking his ornately-wrapped gift from the desk onto the floor, where it landed with a dull metallic sound as though whatever was inside had shattered. Good.

Turning to Lucian, she extended her hand. He took the necklace slowly.

"I'm sorry I let him give me a ride," Jocelyn said, embarrassed. "I didn't know what else to do."

"It's okay. It was my fault for leaving you at the Academy alone. I… I've made a lot of mistakes. I'm sorry. I'm the one who should be sorry."

Jocelyn waved a hand. "It's forgotten, okay? I just… didn't want you to be mad."

He smiled, eyes locking onto hers. He twirled the necklace chain between his fingers. "Never."

Jocelyn returned the smile. She tossed her long hair back, grabbing it with both hands and lifting it, spinning around so her back was to him again.

"Well, come on," she said quietly, a small smile playing across her lips. "Put it on."

* * *

The morning of Jocelyn's departure for Alicante was freezing, almost as if a window had been left open to fill the cracks and crevices with frost and icy air. The room was washed in a pale blue morning light, so early that the sun hadn't even risen yet. Jocelyn woke up without opening her eyes.

Adele was in the room. She could tell, even through her closed eyelids. She'd long ago memorized the rhythm of her mother's footsteps and every nuance that differentiated them from that of her father. The dresser drawers across the room rattled gently as her mother opened and closed them, clearly taking care to keep quiet.

Without moving, Jocelyn opened her eyes halfway, peering through long lashes at the darkened silhouette folding her freshly-laundered school uniforms. Her mother had used the same soap to wash her clothes for as long as she could remember. It smelled fresh and crisp, like lavender and sunlight; the scent was the kind of thing you didn't notice until you'd been away from a place for awhile. Jocelyn absently clenched a fistful of quilt in one hand. Scanning the dark room, she saw that her leather suitcase lay open on the floor. Adele bent down over it, carefully arranging folded sweaters and skirts inside so her daughter would be able to unpack more easily when she arrived at the Academy.

Jocelyn let her eyes fall shut again, slipping back into dreams - it could have been five minutes or an hour later, she never knew, but eventually she felt a weight press into her mattress, a shadow falling over her face.  _Mother_ , she thought, too exhausted to fully feel her confusion, even as a hand reached out to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Slowly, with a gentleness Jocelyn never would have expected, her mother stroked her hair.

She tried to remember another instance of her mother ever showing her such an obvious sign of affection; growing up, it had always been Elisabeth who held her when she cried, who listened to her talk about whatever was bothering her, who knew her favorite books and foods and stories. She had spent her entire childhood wriggling out of her own mother's grasp, purposefully scuffing up her fancy party shoes the second Adele's back was turned.

"Jocelyn?"

Her eyes flickered open. Somehow, her mother must have guessed that she was awake.

"Am I in trouble?" she asked, still groggy.

Adele winced. "Sweetheart, no. I wanted to get your things ready so you wouldn't have to rush around this morning, that's all."

"Oh." She closed her eyes again, snuggling deeper into her nest of blankets. "Thanks."

For a moment, the room was silent. Her mother's hand left her hair and she shifted slightly on the mattress. Jocelyn had just began to drift off to sleep when her mother spoke again, voice crackling with hesitancy.

"Darling… you do know how much I love you?"

Jocelyn's eyes snapped open.

"I would… hate for you to go back to school without realizing how much I care for you," she continued. "I know I can be hard on you."

"Mother, is everything okay? Did something happen?" Jocelyn asked, still slightly disoriented as she hauled herself up into a sitting position.

"Everything's just fine, dear."

She studied her mother's face in the faint golden light that was just beginning to crack through the cold morning sky. Her brown hair hung in loose curls around her shoulders and despite the dark circles beneath her eyes, she looked younger than she had in years. As Jocelyn had gotten older, she'd gradually been able to pick apart her mother's face to see bits and pieces of herself. They didn't look as identical as Amatis and Elisabeth, but Jocelyn had her mother's delicate nose and high cheekbones, and there was definitely a similarity in the stubborn, proud set of her mouth. It was rare to see Adele in an unguarded moment like this one, but these were the times she looked most like her daughter.

"You're sure? You look kind of tired."

Adele took a deep breath, studying Jocelyn intently. Then she shook her head. "You don't know what it's like to be a mother, darling. One day you will have your own child to raise in this very house, and I hope that then you'll realize…"

"Realize what?"

"How excruciating it all is." She waved a hand dramatically, the Fairchild family ring she wore as a wedding band glimmering in the light. "To bring a child into this world."

Jocelyn stared. In sixteen years, she had never heard her mother speak like this.

"Is this because of what happened with Valentine's father? Did it… like, freak you out, or something?"

There was a sort of soft, regretful look in Adele's eyes as she looked down at her daughter. She smiled, reaching out to smooth back Jocelyn's hair at the crown of her head.

"I brought you something… I thought you might like to take it back to school with you. It's on your nightstand."

Curiously, Jocelyn turned to see what looked like an old photograph sitting on top of her battered Codex. She picked it up carefully. It took her a few moments to place the photo in space and time, but when she did, it was like pricking her finger on a needle, sharp and stinging.

"I thought you could add it to your photo album," Adele said. "I thought it might do you some good to remember you still have a mother."

Jocelyn looked up, eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm sorry, Mom."

"You are not the one who has something to be sorry for."

It was funny, Jocelyn thought as her mother slipped out of the room as quietly as she'd come. You could grow up with someone in the very same house, share her nose and cheekbones and mannerisms, and yet not recognize her at all.

She couldn't remember the photograph being taken - the Jocelyn in the photo couldn't have been more than two, dressed in some awful frilly dress that she clearly had not been old enough to protest against wearing. Her mother, looking impossibly young and beautiful, was kneeling next to her, smiling broadly, hands on either of Jocelyn's shoulders, and Fairchild Manor rose impressively behind them. Captured in this moment, they had never looked more alike.

* * *

The Academy spire rose high over Alicante, piercing the powder blue sky with glimmering  _adamas_  and gold. It was a welcome sight to Jocelyn as she made her way up Princewater Street, scuffing her brown leather boots through the thin layer of slush that had accumulated along the sides of the road. Down below Oldcastle Bridge, the canal had frozen over, allowing a group of Nephilim children to slide around on tiny glinting ice skates.

As she neared the bridge, she caught some of their voices carried by the frigid wind. Intrigued, she crossed over to lean against the cold stone, peering down at a little girl with tangled blonde hair who appeared to be throwing a fit.

"-  _always_  have to be the Downworlder!" she wailed. "It's not fair!"

"It's because you're the smallest." One of the boys - he looked a bit older - screeched to a stop right in front of her, a shower of crushed ice spraying from the blades of his skates. "Downworlders are always the weakest, remember?"

"Jeremy!" another girl chastised him. "Don't be cruel. You can be a Shadowhunter next time, Lily."

Lily pouted, mittened hands clamping down on her hips. As she watched, Jocelyn realized she recognized the girl as her classmate Kiva's younger sister. The Bluewaters were one of the oldest Alicante families; according to Jocelyn's father, they'd owned their towering mansion on Princewater Street for six centuries. She wondered what it would have been like to grow up here. There was less space to run, no woods or streams or explore, but the city was always teeming with activity. She thought she might have liked to be at the center of the action.

A sudden commotion from the street below jolted her back into reality. The kids had taken off skating again, and tiny blonde-haired Lily was surprisingly adept at keeping up with the older ones. The boy who had teased her - Jeremy - was just barely spinning out of her grasp.

"You dumb Shadowhunters!" Lily shouted, her little face flushed pink with cold. "I'm gonna get you!"

Jeremy and another girl with long black braids seemed to be herding the kids into a group by the canal bank. They passed what looked like half-frozen sticks between them until everyone had one, giggling and whispering with excitement as they slid back and forth on the ice, some clearly more skilled at balancing than others.

"Ready, Nephilim?" the black-haired girl called. "On my count! Three… two…  _one_!"

Lily spun out frantically as the group surged toward her, brandishing their sticks. A small chorus of voices filled the air.

" _Tahariel!_ " Jeremy yelled. He twirled the stick impressively above his head before bringing it down in a sweeping motion toward Lily, both of them laughing as she stumbled away, arms spread wide to secure her balance.

Jocelyn grinned to herself, resting her chin on her woolen gloved hands, elbows planted on the hard stone of the bridge. She knew what all the yelling was about: practicing naming seraph blades. She and Lucian had done this for countless hours as children, although they'd never had the added drama of a frozen surface to play on.

"Die, you filthy Downworlder!" The black-haired girl screamed, scooping Lily up in her arms and twirling around gracefully on strong legs. Lily laughed and squealed, kicking her ice skates wildly.

Jocelyn adjusted her scarf, tugging it up so that it covered her nose and mouth. She was used to the cold after so many years living in the countryside, but somehow the January air seemed more brutal in the city, whipping around buildings in ruthless chilling coils. Glancing one last time at the laughing children below, she set off down the road, kicking pebbles carelessly as she went.

* * *

The door to Seraph Bakes swung open to the tune of a soft, faraway-sounding bell. Jocelyn stepped gratefully into the warmth, winding her green woolen scarf from around her neck and shaking out her hair. The air smelled sugary and fresh and comforting, like baguettes in a Parisian cafe. From behind the counter, a older woman waved to her, and Jocelyn happily returned the gesture.

"He's over there by the windows," the woman said kindly as she wrapped a selection of cookies in thin, waxy paper. "Here you go, sweetie. Take these over."

"Thanks, Marina." Jocelyn smiled, reaching over the counter to grab the cookies. She'd been coming to the bakery since she was small, accompanying her father on visits to Alicante. All the bakers had loved her and watched her grow up, but Marina especially had doted on her, slipping her extra candies or scraps of pie dough when Granville wasn't looking.

Jocelyn skipped around the tables, boots clicking against the shiny floor. The cafe felt homey, it always had, and yet at the same time it bore no resemblance to any Shadowhunter home she had ever entered. The walls were a warm orange-pink, a sunrise color, dotted here and there with paintings of various Idris landscapes. One painting behind the counter, a watercolor of the brook behind Fairchild Manor where she and Lucian had played as kids, was actually her own, a gift to Marina when she'd been about fourteen.

And there was Lucian himself, looking somewhat uncomfortable in the corner of a pale yellow booth. He was sipping something out of a steaming white mug - apple chai tea, she assumed. When they were younger, she'd teased him relentlessly for drinking it until she'd realized how good it actually was. Even still, she stuck to her classic hot water with lemon.

" _Bonjour, monsieur,_ " she said, flinging herself into the booth across from Lucian. She dropped the paper-covered cookies onto the table. " _Voulez-vous un biscuit?_ "

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response." He grinned, grabbing a cookie.

"Because you're too hungry?"

"Because your French is way better than mine."

" _C'est seulment parce que vous ne pratique pas avec moi._ "

He raised an eyebrow, glasses slipping an inch down his nose. "Stop."

"Alright, alright. Keep me from exercising my brain, I don't mind."

"So are you all unpacked?"

They'd arrived at the Academy the previous day, but had spent most of the evening having a snowball fight in the practice yard while Amatis and Maddy watched and cheered.

Jocelyn stuffed a cookie in her mouth. "No, but I need to do it quickly before Maryse comes back."

"She's not back from London yet?"

"No, I mean, she's  _back_ , but she's not in our room. I guess she slept there last night because her bed was unmade this morning, but I haven't seen her at all. She was gone by the time I woke up."

"Huh." Lucian frowned, taking a sip of tea. "That's strange."

"It's so weird. If I didn't know better… nah."

"What?"

Jocelyn shifted in her seat, glancing over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening. The cafe was practically empty save for a few couples and a family with a bunch of small children.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think she has some  _thing_ going on with Valentine."

"What do you mean, a  _thing_?"

"You know. A  _thing_. I mean, think about it. She's never in our room, I keep catching her in the courtyard with him at weird hours of that night-"

"I thought that only happened once."

"-And she's pestering me to hang out with him like he's Raziel's gift to humanity," Jocelyn continued without pause. She drummed the table confidently. "It all adds up. She loves him."

"I don't know, Joss. As much as I know the idea of your roommate dating a sociopath thrills you, I don't think it's a love kind of thing. I think he's forming some clique. Remember, back at the beginning of the year? What he said in the practice yard?"

Jocelyn cast her mind back. It felt like a lifetime ago. "A society… what was it? A 'society of progressive young Shadowhunters.' Was that it?"

"Yeah. Remember, it was only supposed to be for the open-minded ones?"

"Right. By the Angel, I was blocking that out. Like forcing us to participate in creepy rituals and dares really proves open-mindedness."

Lucian smirked around his mug. "You're just saying that because you chickened out."

"I did not chicken out!" Jocelyn leaned forward angrily, elbows thumping onto the tabletop. "There was a warlock, remember? Most people would've ran away screaming."

"Yeah, some old woman warlock reading mundane tarot cards in the street? Terrifying."

"You weren't there, okay?"

Lucian laughed. "What did she even say to you? She predict anything?"

Jocelyn lowered her eyes to the table, gently tracing the ring made by Lucian's mug with one finger. Her mind raced, but she couldn't bring herself to say anything.

"Joss?"

"It was nothing."

"Did she really predict something?" All amusement was gone from his face, his head tilted sympathetically.

Jocelyn leaned back against the booth. In all honestly, she hadn't been thinking much about the warlock's prediction, mainly because every time she did a wave of nausea washed over her. But it had been stored in the very back of her mind, creeping out at unlikely times to unnerve her. She regarded her best friend carefully across the table: gray-blue eyes blinking behind his glasses, chapped lips drawn in a tight line of concern.

"She asked me if I believed in destiny," Jocelyn said quietly. She pulled her stele out of her coat pocket just to have something to do with her hands, twirling it through her fingers absently. "And she called me…"

"What'd she call you?"

The words seemed stuck in Jocelyn's throat. This was the part that haunted her. "She said… she said I was 'a daughter of heaven condemned to a warrior's life on earth."

Lucian didn't react, merely taking another sip of tea.

" _Condemned_ ," she repeated. "Like it's a punishment. Like Lucifer, falling from heaven. Doesn't that… I don't know…"

"It's an interpretation, I guess. An outsider's view."

"But then she said…" Jocelyn was desperate to get him to react, to freak out, to stand up and throw a teacup or something, but at the same time, she wasn't sure she wanted him to know this shameful secret. What if it was true? She sighed internally.  _If you can't tell Lucian, then who can you tell_? "She said… she didn't see a Shadowhunter's life in my cards."

That got Lucian's attention. He looked up from his chai tea, startled. "Jocelyn…"

"I know, I know. It's ridiculous.  _Me_. Of course I'm a Shadowhunter. I'm a Fairchild! I've been training my whole life for this! I know what it's about! Of course I'm…"

"Joss, you don't need to prove yourself to me."

"Of course I'm a Shadowhunter," she mumbled, fidgeting with her stele. "Of  _course_ I am. …Am I?"

"Of course you are," Lucian said firmly.

Jocelyn smiled weakly.

"Have another cookie," he added, pushing a lemon meringue one across the table in her direction.

"So, this society of Valentine's. What else do you know about it?" She popped the cookie in her mouth.

"They're calling themselves 'the Circle.'"

"Do they say it like that?" Jocelyn lowered her voice comically. "'The Circle'?"

"Well, Stephen thinks it's stupid, therefore Amatis does too." He rolled his eyes. "But Patrick and your buddy Robert… they seem pretty into it. Maryse, I guess. Celine. Hodge."

"Hodge?" Jocelyn asked incredulously. "But he's so…"

"Uncool?" Lucian supplied, laughing. "Joss, none of these people are exactly  _cool_. The guys are good fighters, I guess, and Maryse is pretty, but Valentine's definitely not recruiting cool people. At least… not yet."

"You think Maryse is pretty?"

"I was just stating a fact. Why do you look so weird?"

"Jeez, thanks."

"No, you were making a weird face."

Jocelyn grabbed a cup of water that sat beside his mug of chai, taking a sip. "I'm feeling kind of gross. Must've eaten my cookie too fast. What did you mean, he's not recruiting cool people  _yet_?"

"I can just tell." Lucian shrugged. "When he wants cool people, that's when he'll come for you."


	11. Replaced

**Chapter Eleven**

_The sky is dark red, black clouds twisting and spiraling like thorns and vines, choking the air with poison. Jocelyn stands still as the wind howls. Her hair, long and dull and tangled, whips across her face with the force of a thousand little knives. She stumbles, trying to get her bearings, searching valiantly for some kind of familiar landmark._

_And then she sees it - in the distance, the trees bending in the wind, limbs stripped bare and stark. Brocelind Forest. She is almost home._

_“Jocelyn!”_

_She feels rather than hears her name being called. Struggling against the wind, she looks over her shoulder, and her blood turns to ice._

_Valentine’s eyes are jet black, even the whites around the irises. He looks even younger somehow, his face all sharp angles as if he were cut from glass. Frayed, threadbare angel wings the color of midnight spread out from his shoulder blades, steady even as the wind howls. In his arms, he is holding something - a pile of rags? No, someone… no…_

_“Lucian!” The scream tears from her throat, inhuman._

_He lies helpless, limp, in Valentine’s arms. His face is stark white, eyes wide and unblinking and foggy and vacant. He is gone._

_“You did this,” Valentine says easily, barely raising his voice, yet somehow she can hear every word. “You did this, Jocelyn. When you sit all alone and cry to herself about how this could have happened, remember that. Remember it.”_

_Jocelyn falls forward, knees scraping hard against the rough ground, sharp pebbles digging into her skin. She raises her shaking hands - blood pours from scratches on her palms, spilling onto the dirt below, and she chokes on the acrid taste rising in her throat. Her hair spills down her back, blowing in her eyes as she blinks away hot tears. She screams, and screams, and screams, and no one comes to hold her._

_“Remember this,” Valentine repeats. “You did this.”_

Jocelyn sat bolt upright, heart hamming in her chest.

The bedroom was exactly as she’d left it, though it was now pitch dark, moonlight pooling in silver by the window. Everything was still and silent. When she concentrated, she could hear Maryse’s soft breathing from across the room, and she squinted through the dark for confirmation that her roommate was actually here. That meant it had to be seriously late.

She raised her trembling hands, palms up, still half convinced that she was in the middle of a nightmare. The skin was smooth and unblemished. The air had lost its heavy, dusty quality, replaced by the typical crisp coolness that permeated every corner of the Academy.

Jocelyn dimly registered that she was still half asleep, but regardless, she swung her legs off the side of the bed, flinching slightly as her bare feet touched the cold stone. She grabbed her stele from her bedside table and dashed a quick soundless rune on her forearm before darting across the room on tiptoe, creaking open the door and slipping out into the hallway.

She had never heard the Academy this quiet. Usually people were scattered around the hallway studying, laughing, talking, practicing their runes on notebook paper. Now it was deserted, lit only by witchlight torches.

As she crept down the hall, she couldn’t help but feel like a ghost. Her feet made no sound as they touched the ground. Behind several doors, she heard faint snoring, sleepy mumbling. Finally, she reached the last door on the right. She gripped the brass door handle and gently pushed it open.

Lucian’s room was organized chaos. Books were stacked at random intervals across the floor, just like his room back at Graymark Manor. Here and there, various pieces of clothing were strewn around… an Academy uniform sweater lying crumpled by the window, a black winter jacket slung over one bedpost. He was careful with his possessions, which Jocelyn had always understood, even if his own family didn’t. He knew where everything was and he liked it that way.

She took two hesitant steps into the room before she jolted back into herself, waking up fully for the first time. What was she _doing_? She thought of all those nights, years ago, running through the forest like a little girl in a fairytale, climbing through the kitchen window to get to his room. Why had she done it? To keep from feeling alone? She remembered tucking her small body against his, burying her face against his shoulder. The most natural place to be in her entire world. My _parabatai_ , she’d thought back then.

Jocelyn folded her arms against her chest, shivering against the cold. With one last glance at her sleeping best friend, she turned, closing the door quietly. He was fine. He was alive. It had all been a dream. That was all she’d needed to know. That was all.

But back in her bed, moments from dropping off into sleep, eyelids heavy, all she could see and feel and breathe was him - the warmth of him tucked beside her, his heartbeat a steady rhythm in her ear, his scent of lemon-soap laundry and dusty antique books. A childhood memory, a dream to cling to.

 

* * *

 

 

“Try it just one more time, okay?”

“Again?” Lucian’s shoulders slumped. He stood despondently in the center of the weapons room, dressed in loose-fitting practice clothes. His blue t-shirt was drenched with sweat. 

“One more time,” Jocelyn said from her spot on the floor. She sprawled out her legs in front of her, bending at the waist to touch her toes. Her ponytail fell forward as she stretched. “You can do it. I believe in you.”

“You don’t sound very convincing.”

Sighing heavily, Lucian turned to pick up another knife from the pile that lay scattered around his feet. Light streamed through the tall windows of the weapons room. There had been a blizzard the night before and the blinding white light from outside bounced off the various metal weapons and artifacts that hung on display around the room, making it seem as if they were inside a large diamond. 

They’d been practicing throwing knives for an hour now and Lucian’s stamina hadn’t improved. Privately, Jocelyn wondered what he’d been doing in training all these years. She’d had to show him the proper way to hold a knife without being in danger of accidentally chopping off a finger. To make matters worse, none of the Marks she’d drawn on him seemed to be helping; he actually seemed to get a little bit worse, a little bit more unstable, every time she added a new one. For the first half hour he’d been queasy, and now his eyes seemed unfocused - Jocelyn was trying not to mention this as he was pretty obviously trying to hide it.

Lucian gripped the knife nervously, eyeing it as if it would slip out of his hand at any given moment.

“Confidence!” Jocelyn called, her voice echoing throughout the room.

He steeled himself, tucking his shoulders back in the way she’d described earlier. With a grunt of effort, he hurled the knife at the target across the room. It sailed easily through the air before losing momentum and dropping to the floor like a stone, skittering across the smooth surface and into a dusty corner.

“Damn it.” His head dropped, defeated.

“Well, that wasn’t _so_ bad,” Jocelyn said lightly. “You got it into the air, at least.”

Lucian raised his arms in a mock cheer as he crossed the room to retrieve the knife. “Great. Will you just show me one more time? Maybe I’m just not paying close enough attention.”

“I guess I can show you, but you’ll only get better with practice.” Jocelyn scrambled to her feet. “Not by watching me all the time.”

“It helps, I promise.”

She selected a knife from the pile, feeling its weight in her palm. “Get out of the way, okay? I don’t want to inadvertently stab you.”

“You’d only be doing me a favor,” Lucian grumbled, but he got out of the way.

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I’m kind of tired. I’m probably not going to set the best example right now.”

“I know you’re better than me, Joss. It’s fine. I know you’re not showing off. I’m not going to cry or anything.”

Jocelyn bit her lip. No response came to mind. It was true… she worried about looking like a show-off. These things just came easily to her. She’d thrown her first knife when she was seven and perfectly sliced an apple hanging from the tree in the field behind Wayland Manor while on a playdate with Michael. Now, she focused on the target, eyes narrowing, leaned forward slightly, and threw. The knife arced perfectly through the air, landing smack in the center of the red circle. She dropped her hands to her sides. 

Lucian applauded. “Perfect!” 

She turned to smile sadly at him. “I’m not a very good teacher. I’m sorry. I just… learned how to do this stuff so young. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“It’s okay,” he said with an exaggerated shrug. “Look, I think I’ve learned all I can for now. It’s lunchtime. Why don’t you go grab something to eat in the dining hall and I’ll meet you there after I get a shower?”

Jocelyn pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. “Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m positive.”

She crossed the room to grab her book bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “I’ll see you later, Lucian.”

                          

* * *

 

Before heading to lunch, Jocelyn stopped upstairs to take a shower. Despite the fact that she hadn’t worked nearly as hard as Lucian in the weapons room, she was still exhausted, her bones aching. Clearly, she hadn’t been practicing as much as she should have over the holiday break.

The dining hall was packed when Jocelyn trudged in, wet hair tugged into a messy bun. She was quickly waved over by Maddy who sat at their usual table by the fireplace. Next to her was Amatis, dressed unusually nicely in a pale blue dress. She looked a little pale.

“Hey guys.” Jocelyn slumped into a seat next to Maddy.

“Thank God you’re here,” said Maddy, looking like she was holding in a laugh with tremendous effort. “We’re having a crisis.”

“A crisis?”

Maddy jerked her head in Amatis’s direction.

“Amatis, what’s up?”

“I can’t do this,” she whispered, staring at Jocelyn with frantic, wide eyes. “Can you get me out of it?”

Jocelyn laughed, confused. “Out of _what_?”

But Amatis seemed to have been robbed of her ability to speak. She looked down at her empty china plate, fixating on the pattern of golden intertwined letter C’s that adorned all the Academy dishware as though she expected food to materialize. Ezra, the chef, bustled into the room importantly, greeting Jocelyn and setting a plate of pasta and a small dish of salad in front of her.

“Fine, I’ll tell her,” Maddy said diplomatically. She turned to Jocelyn, eyes dancing with glee. “Tonight is her first date with Stephen, so she’s a little nervous.”

“No way!” Jocelyn’s jaw dropped. She herself had never been on a date before, unless you counted an awkward make-out session with Anson Pangborn in the back garden of Wayland Manor during a New Year’s Eve party when she was fourteen, which she usually tried to forget. What did you even _do_ on a date?

“I can’t go.” Amatis was biting her nails now, a habit she had abandoned about ten years previously.

“Sure you can,” Jocelyn said matter-of-factly. “What are you guys gonna do?”

“They’re going to lunch.” Maddy answered for Amatis. 

“Lunch? Why lunch?”

“Because that’s what time of day it is.”

“No, but like, _friends_ meet for lunch. Couldn’t he at least have asked you to dinner?”

“She didn’t want to go to dinner,” Maddy said, as close to rolling her eyes as Jocelyn had ever seen her. “She said that was too _romantic_.”

Jocelyn’s eyebrows furrowed. “But… it’s a date.”

Maddy shot Jocelyn a look that clearly shouted _Don’t get me started_.

“Okay, Amatis? Are you listening?” Jocelyn leaned her elbows against the table. She wasn’t used to giving pep talks to either of the Graymarks, but Amatis especially had always filled the role of her advisor. It was strange to be on the other side. “You look gorgeous, okay? Stephen likes you, or else he wouldn’t have asked you out. You guys have been hanging out constantly. He would ditch you if he was getting tired of you.” 

Amatis looked at Jocelyn, horrified. “Oh no… he’s getting tired of me, isn’t he?”

“Way to go,” Maddy muttered under her breath, spearing a tomato with her fork.

“No - Amatis, that’s not what I mean! Okay, I’m sorry, but didn’t you guys kiss a million years ago?”

“A month ago,” Amatis said, a reliable pink flush lighting up her cheeks.

“So how come you’re still falling apart?”

Maddy laughed good-naturedly. “Jocelyn, when you love someone, you never stop falling apart.”

The doors to the dining hall crashed open. Startled, Jocelyn dropped her fork; it fell onto her plate with a clang as she whirled around. Lucian was running toward their table, looking absolutely exhausted but glowing with happiness as he shouted her name. People at other tables were turning, curious.

“What’s up?” Jocelyn asked, laughing. His excitement was contagious.

“Jocelyn, I did it!” He panted as he reached the table, darting around it to take the empty seat next to Amatis. Sweaty tendrils of brown hair hung in his eyes and he wasn’t wearing his glasses. “I threw a knife! I hit the target!”

“Wait, seriously?” She lunged across the table, flinging out her palm for a high five. He slapped it in return. “What, was I jinxing you with my presence or something?”

“Well-” Lucian caught sight of his sister beside him. “Amatis, what’s wrong?”

Amatis was now gripping her water glass so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. She didn’t answer. 

“Long story. She’s fine,” Maddy said hurriedly. “So you hit the target, Lucian? That’s great!”

“Thanks!” He grinned at her.

“Again, I have to ask you… _how_?” Jocelyn thumped the table in frustration. “I was in there with you all morning and you couldn’t do anything.”

“Jocelyn,” Maddy scolded.

“Sorry. You couldn’t… hit the target, I mean.”

“Well… yeah…I…” Lucian looked away, focusing on some spot on the wall behind Jocelyn. He shifted uneasily in his seat. “I guess I just… worked it out. Maybe you were making me nervous or something.”

“I was making you _nervous_?”

“I don’t know, not on purpose! I… I guess I just-" 

“Lucian!” A voice boomed from behind Maddy and Jocelyn. They both jumped and turned to see Valentine approaching the table.

It was the first time, Jocelyn thought, that she had seen him wearing something other than his usual black. The effect was actually somewhat pleasant. He wore a soft-looking tan cable knit sweater and a pair of slacks; he didn’t even appear to be wearing a weapons belt or carrying his stele. He was even walking differently, it seemed… less stiff, more at ease. Maybe he’d slept well last night or something. Or performed a ritualistic cleansing sacrifice. 

“Hi, Valentine,” Lucian mumbled, now looking uncomfortable beyond all reason as Valentine leaned over the group, placing his hands on the table next to Jocelyn. 

“Sorry, private table. Get out,” she said smoothly, taking a sip of water.

Valentine chuckled, looking around at the group. Maddy was tense at Jocelyn’s side, hands folded in her lap. Amatis still appeared to be off on some other dimensional plane. Expecting some smart retort, Jocelyn turned to Valentine, staring at him defiantly, but to her surprise his gaze focused on Lucian.

“I just finished fixing everything up in the weapons room,” he told the other boy. “You did quite a job on that target! It was in tatters.” 

Lucian seemed to relax a little, a hesitant smile spreading across his face.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jocelyn asked. She hated not being in the know, and it was infuriating that Lucian, of all people, didn’t seem to be remembering this.

“Lucian, have you not told your friends?” Valentine’s voice was still silky, almost _friendly_. He’d been cordial to Jocelyn before, of course, but never like this.

Across the table, Lucian shrugged mutely.

“What’s going on?” Maddy asked, frowning.

Valentine chuckled, reaching into his pocket and producing something small, thin, and silver. Jocelyn automatically jolted back; she would’ve recognized a _kindjal_ from a mile away. This dagger in particular was studded with a pattern of blue stones.

“Your friend Lucian here is quite promising with the _kindjal_. We were working together in the weapons room. He must have hit the target forty, fifty times by the time we were finished.”

Jocelyn’s jaw hung open and she turned to Lucian, who smiled modestly.

“Maybe not quite fifty,” he said. 

“Wait, wait.” Jocelyn held up a hand. “Valentine. You taught him how to throw a _kindjal_ in half an hour? I was in there with him all morning and he never even got close!”

Valentine was still standing at the head of the table as though he were a father surveying his rowdy children. “Well, Jocelyn, I don’t know what to tell you. Perhaps Lucian just required a different type of encouragement. You see, not every Shadowhunter possesses equal skill with every weapon. I simply suggested that he try out different styles until he found something to which he was best suited. This _kindjal_ is a family heirloom. I had a feeling it would be a proper choice for Lucian.”

Jocelyn turned to Lucian for confirmation.

“It’s true,” he said, eyes bright and glittering. He looked truly happy for the first time in months, almost _hopeful_ , and the thought made some kind of unusual feeling bury itself deep within Jocelyn’s stomach. “He really helped me, Jocelyn. It’s okay… you did a great job helping me too. But Valentine just showed me a different strategy.”

To her horror, Jocelyn felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes. She bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, filling her mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

“I have to go.”

Maddy grabbed her arm gently. “Jocelyn, wait…”

“No. I have to… class this afternoon… I have to read. I forgot.”

She shook off Maddy’s arm and got to her feet, roughly pushing in her chair, succumbing to good manners even at a time of stress. Ignoring the calls of her friends, she stalked out of the room. She couldn’t bear to turn around and see Valentine standing there - she knew the expression that would be on his face, a quiet cockiness, a smug smile.

But most of all, she couldn’t stand to look at Lucian. She wanted to invent a memory removal rune to wipe that picture from her mind forever: Lucian Graymark, her best friend in all the world, the boy who had adored her since they were six years old, staring reverently at a new friend, glowing with pride and joy and relief that someone had finally saved him.

 

* * *

 

 

Jocelyn knew that Lucian would seek her out eventually. 

She curled up on top of her bed for awhile, crying into her pillow, working herself up as best as she could by thinking overdramatic things like _I’ll never speak to him ever again_ and _He’s probably off with Valentine right now learning how to do more important things that I could never be able to teach him_ and _I bet he’s eating something disgusting for lunch right now because I wasn’t there to warn him against it_. After about fifteen minutes, she’d exhausted herself. She stood in front of the mirror examining her own reflection, assuring that she looked suitably miserable with bloodshot eyes and a sticky, tearstained face. Then she arranged herself by the window, pulling her knees up to her chest and gazing mournfully out the window at the snowy practice yard.

There was nothing to listen to but the ticking of the ornate grandfather clock in the hall. Eventually, it bonged three times. _Seriously?_ Lunch was over by three, the plates cleared away and everyone sent off to lessons. If she wasn’t downstairs in class by 3:30, there would be hell to pay. Surely he would check on her by then.

After about five minutes, the door flew open and Jocelyn assumed the position immediately, resting her head despondently on her knees. She received no reaction. Glancing up, hair falling over her face, she saw Maryse dressed in her practice clothes and moving like a tornado. She threw a handful of books into her leather bag while attempting to tug her hair into a ponytail at the same time. Without sparing Jocelyn a glance, she swung the bag over her shoulders and sprinted for the door.

“You’ll be late,” she yelled to Jocelyn, already halfway into the hallway.

Jocelyn slumped back against the wall, sighing loudly. What was she supposed to do _now_? She couldn’t skip class, but if she didn’t get moving soon she would be late. Reluctantly, she scrambled to her feet and started halfheartedly tossing supplies into her bag. She changed her shirt and then her shoes, just to have something to do. The clock in the hall chimed 3:15.

Well, this was no good. She couldn’t go to class looking like a miserable idiot. Now absolutely furious, she dashed into the hall and down to the bathroom where she stood at the marble sink splashing cold water on her face. Then she trudged back to her room and stood by her bed for as long as she dared… one, two, three, four, five minutes.

He wasn’t coming. He didn’t care.

Slinging her bag over one shoulder, she headed downstairs.

 

* * *

 

 

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Jocelyn’s class was practicing languages that day, sitting at long tables in the library poring over textbooks, and she tried to lose herself in Ancient Greek. She was fighting a losing battle. The words seemed to flicker and melt before her eyes. All she could think about was Lucian’s face as he talked about Valentine. Her fist clenched around her pencil until she actually cracked it in half, making everyone around her jump. 

Dinnertime came, and even though Jocelyn was starving, she couldn’t face walking into the dining hall. As everyone hurried eagerly to dinner, she darted up the stairs, changing into jeans and boots and wrapping herself in her green velvet cloak.

The ground outside the Academy was slick with ice. She walked carefully; it was already dark, the only source of light coming from tall, ornate witchlight lamps which drenched the street in cool silver. Without really knowing where she was going, Jocelyn set out in search of food, in search of a place she could sit and be left alone to her thoughts.

 _Am I really fighting with Lucian again_? She wondered uncomfortably as she headed down Hightower Street, the shops and taverns drawing closer together as if they were attempting to draw her in. But no… this didn’t feel like a fight. It felt like herself being typically overdramatic. Lucian was probably sitting with Amatis and Maddy (and maybe even Valentine) laughing about her right now. She hoped that he would wonder where she was. 

The buildings around her were buzzing with evening shoppers, soft bells jangling as doors opened and closed. A group of children too young to attend the Academy or even be Marked were making snow angels outside Seraph Bakes. She smiled, feeling a pang. Sometimes she thought she would trade in everything to go back to those happier times - times when she hadn’t needed black ink swirling up and down her arms and across her chest to give her strength.

Her initial thought was to dart into the bakery and grab something to eat from Marina, but something up ahead in Angel Square caught her attention. There was a figure by the fountain, dark and silhouetted against a backdrop of brilliant white light from a nearby demon tower. Ordinarily she wouldn’t approach strange figures off in the distance, but this one seemed familiar. At first she wondered if it was Amatis - maybe she’d skipped afternoon class and stayed out late after her date with Stephen? But as she hurried forward, she realized that the shape was distinctively male. A few steps closer told her all she needed to know.

It was Lucian.

She immediately slowed to a stop, feeling what seemed to be a chunk of ice crystallizing around her heart. 

“Joss?” His voice sounded so sad that she couldn’t keep herself from hurrying forward to him.

“Hi,” she said as she drew closer, jamming her hands into the pockets of her jeans.

“Hi.”

“How did you know I’d be here?”

He grinned. Up close, she could see all the familiar features of his face: his smiling blue eyes, the eager quirk of his lips.

“I know you, Joss,” he said simply. “I knew you’d make some dramatic exit rather than walk into the dining hall.”

“Okay, it was hardly a dramatic exit. I didn’t even slam any doors.”

“You’re making some progress, then,” he laughed. “Look. I’m really sorry… I didn’t realize that my working with Valentine would hurt your feelings, I guess. I just - I really thought we were on the same page, you know? I thought you wanted me to make progress and become more confident." 

“I do!”

“Well, then, I don’t really get why you threw such a tantrum today. Valentine really-”

“Don’t say his name,” Jocelyn snapped.

“By the Angel, Joss, what is the _big deal_?” He was frowning now, all traces of laughter gone from his face.

“The _big deal_ is that I don’t exactly appreciate other people swooping in and trying to steal my friends, and I _especially_ don’t appreciate said friend disregarding everything I’ve ever done-” Jocelyn stopped dead, catching her breath. “Sorry. _Sorry_ , okay… I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to yell at you.”

“Then don’t.”

“Okay,” Jocelyn said, and to her horror, her voice wavered. How many times had she cried in front of Lucian? Until they’d been to the Academy, she hardly ever had. It seemed like turning sixteen had opened the floodgates to a well of emotion she hadn’t even known she possessed. She remembered when she’d broken her wrist climbing up the trellis behind Fairchild Manor when she was eight. She’d been to young to receive an _iratze_ so she’d had to wait for Ragnor Fell, her family’s warlock of choice, to drop by and fix her up. Lucian had sat with her the entire time as she’d laid in bed sobbing. She’d been so mortified that she’d privately vowed to never cry in front of him again.

Lucian stepped forward, worry creasing his forehead. “Joss, it’s okay! It’s okay. I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s fine.”

He looked like he wanted to hug her but was holding back. For some reason, this upset Jocelyn more than anything else. There were only two people in the world who had ever hugged her when she was upset, and one of them, Elisabeth, she would never see again. She couldn’t stand to lose Lucian too.

She folded her arms across her chest protectively. “I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want you to leave me. I don’t… I don’t want…”

Tears were streaming down her face now and she actually stomped her foot in frustration. “I don’t want to… to _cry_ in front of you…”

“Jocelyn, it’s fine!” He moved forward awkwardly, seeming to consider for a moment before reaching out and pulling her into his arms. “It’s fine, okay? It’s not a big deal. Valentine just explained the concept to me in a way that I could understand. He’s a good teacher, I guess. It’s not a huge deal. It doesn’t mean that he’s suddenly my best friend.”

“Really?” she asked tearfully, pressed against his chest.

“Really. He helped me. He was _nice_ to me… the Angel knows why, but he was. I really need to work with him, Joss. It’s the first time I’ve felt like… being a Shadowhunter is actually something I can do.”

“I always knew you could,” she grumbled, wiping her nose and stepping back out of his arms.

“I know.” He smiled. “Believe me, I know. But I just… I might need to work with Valentine a little more from now on. It’s not that you’re bad at teaching me or anything, it’s just that he… well, I don’t know. You’d see it if you were alone with him. He’s really different.”

“I’ve been alone with him and he was still a dick.”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “Joss, the guy just lost his father. Give him a break.”

“I know, but traumatic experiences don’t make it okay for you to-”

“Jocelyn. I lost _my_ father.”

She bit back an urge to scream _I know, I was there_.

“I know how he feels. I think… look, I know that he drives you crazy, but I think that I offer him something in return, you know? We’ve both lost our fathers. I think maybe he needs someone to talk to. He’s not evil, Joss. He’s just dealing with some things.” 

“Okay,” Jocelyn said softly, attempting to pull herself back together. “Alright. It’s fine. Train with him.” 

“You’re sure? I mean, not that I’m asking for your permission or anything, I just don’t want to-”

“I know. Forget it. It’s fine.” She managed a weak smile. “I want you to do well. Train with him. But just promise me he’s not going to be your best friend?”

“Never, I promise.” Lucian tugged her into a loose hug, this one much more comfortable. “No one could ever pull me away from you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Points to anyone who can tell me the significance of Valentine teaching Lucian to throw that particular kindjal!  
> Also, thanks so, so much to everyone who has read, reviewed, given kudos, etc! It means a lot to me that people are invested in the story and are excited to see what happens next.


	12. Oath

**Chapter Twelve**

As if things weren’t difficult enough lately, Jocelyn’s parents were buying a canal house.

She sulked for a solid half hour after receiving her mother’s letter (and that was strange in and of itself - her _mother_ sending a letter to report on family news?) before realizing that she had better get her act together before any of her friends started asking her what was wrong. It was unbecoming, as a Shadowhunter, to act like your parents irritated you. If they did, you kept it quiet, because half of your class was probably comprised of orphans like Lucian and Amatis. Some, like Valentine, had lost a parent recently, while some, like Robert Lightwood, had lost one when they were just a child. Then there were others, like Maryse and little Bianca Silveira, who had been shipped off to Alicante by parents who couldn’t be bothered to deal with them. Most upsetting to Jocelyn was Celine Montclaire, orphaned at two, raised in the Paris Institute under the tutelage of her aunt and uncle who had hit her regularly when she didn’t learn as quickly as the other children. All things considered, Jocelyn was devastatingly lucky. Two parents, whole and alive, a family unit intact. 

She told herself this every night before she fell asleep, willing herself to grow up and just let it go already. But the idea of her _parents_ \- especially her _mother_ \- encroaching upon the life she had so carefully built for herself made her want to scream. Alicante would not be hers anymore. But then, she thought wistfully, it had never really been hers at all. 

By the time Jocelyn got around to visiting the new house - the _second_ house, because of course they would never get rid of Fairchild Manor - the fluffy January snow had greyed and melted into dismal February slush. Winter in Idris was always beautiful, but the novelty began to lose its shiny veneer when you had to walk to class in inch-deep murky puddles. Jocelyn had been borrowing Maryse’s knee-high boots without asking, assuming her roommate had so many pairs of shoes that the absence of one would go unnoticed.

She slogged through the dingy snow on Princewater Street, tripping a little in the clunky boots. In one hand, she carefully held her witchlight, which cast strange shadows that bounced up and down through the street ahead. The sky was already a deep black sprinkled here and there with silver stars. Lately, Jocelyn had found herself yearning for spring, for later sunsets. She hated walking out of the dining hall to find herself plunged into pitch darkness; it was unsettling. This end of the street was quiet, snaking higher up the hill that eventually led to the North Gate. It seemed kind of depressing to live so near the city limits, but it was rare that a house on the actual canal came up for sale; most were passed down from generation to generation. She supposed her parents had taken whatever was available.

The letter from Adele providing the new address was tucked into the pocket of Jocelyn’s uniform skirt, and she pulled it out now, unfolding it as she trudged up the hill. Even though she was in excellent shape, her calf muscles were aching from the long walk.

Finally, a house loomed in front of her that fit the description: cream-colored, a rounded wooden door with a brass knocker that glimmered in the glow from the witchlight lamps, and two turrets protruding from either side. The turrets seemed to be mostly glassy; she could see straight through the nearest one and out onto the frozen canal.

Shoving the letter back into her pocket, Jocelyn pushed open the ornate bronze gate, letting it clang shut behind her as she skipped up the flagstone walkway leading to the entrance. She rapped her knuckles on the door several times before noticing a small bell with a pull string hanging to her right. She seized the string in one gloved hand and tugged it; for such a small bell, it made a deafening clatter that seemed to echo up and down the street. Wincing, she covered her ears with her hands.

The door swung open and there stood Adele, looking as though she were holding back her severe irritation at great personal cost. 

“Jocelyn,” she greeted her daughter, holding out a hand to guide her inside. “I knew that could only have been you, making such a racket.”

“It’s not like anyone was sleeping, Mother.” Jocelyn rolled her eyes, stepping into the foyer and shrugging off her velvet cloak. “It’s seven o’clock.”

Adele looked like she wanted to retort, but bit her lip in a gesture that reminded Jocelyn surprisingly of herself. Her warm brown hair was pulled back into an intricate French braid, her lips carefully outlined in the same shade of matte red she’d worn Jocelyn’s entire life. As much as her mother drove her insane, she couldn’t deny that it was nice to see a familiar childhood sight merging with her new life.

“Hello, darling!” Granville Fairchild’s voice boomed from somewhere deep within the house, seeming to reverberate around the walls. Jocelyn brushed past her mother, who took her cloak and moved to hang it in the hall closet.

Hurrying down the long corridor - the walls were surprisingly bare save for a selection of peeling golden wallpaper, although she assumed her mother just hadn’t gotten around to decorating yet - she soon found herself in a small, cozy kitchen. She blinked in surprise. At home, she was rarely allowed in the kitchen; her mother didn’t cook and neither did her father. Like most Shadowhunter families nowadays, hers believed that female Shadowhunters shouldn’t be taught to cook to prevent them from being relegated to the kitchen for the rest of their lives. Jocelyn thought she could make a decent tomato and cheese sandwich if called upon, but at home they had had a succession of cooks responsible for catering to their every need. Here, apparently, her parents would be shopping from the nearby market and fending for themselves. 

The kitchen itself was warm, decorated in shades of deep brown wood and yellow-gold that reminded her distinctively of Fairchild Manor. There was even a rose pattern painted across the wall tiles, winding behind the counter and around the window which offered a sweeping view of the canal below. She couldn’t help but remember the rose trellises of the manor house with a pang.

Granville stood by the window sipping a glass of red wine; he set it down and turned to wrap Jocelyn in a hug. 

“Oh, my dear girl, I missed you!” he exclaimed, lifting her up so her toes skimmed the hardwood floor. “You’re looking lovely this evening.” 

He set her back onto the floor and Jocelyn looked down skeptically at her plaid pleated Academy skirt, the gray sweater with the insignia of interlocking C’s (Clave, Council, Covenant, Consul), and especially Maryse’s boots, so tall on her that they brushed the bottoms of her kneecaps. A significant amount of slush had accumulated on the soles, which she tried to brush off onto the floor without her mother noticing. 

“Thanks, Dad. Sorry, I came right from dinner - I didn’t have time to change or anything.”

“You came from dinner?” Adele swept back into the room, rummaging through a cabinet and producing two wine glasses. “You could have eaten dinner here, Jocelyn.”

Jocelyn held herself back from snapping. “It’s fine, Mother. I just felt like eating dinner with my friends.”

Ever since her mother’s surprising show of affection back during the holidays, Jocelyn had been doing her best not to cause any fights. She had a feeling that her parents’ sudden interest in buying a house in Alicante had something to do with that strange increase in sentimentality, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what was going on. Probably she could have spoken to Lucian about it, but she was hesitant to dangle parental problems in front of someone who was - as much as she hated the word - an orphan.

“Well, have a look around!” Granville exclaimed, one arm still tight around his daughter’s shoulders. “Your mother’s been having a right time of it, decorating this place. Some new throw rug or fancy pillow every time I walk into the sitting room!”

“Wine, Jocelyn?” Adele called from the kitchen as Jocelyn walked into the adjacent sitting room.

“Yes, please,” she called over her shoulder. She would’ve much preferred her lemon water or at least some kind of tea, but she was all too aware of how even little things could turn into outright battles with her mother. Better to just take what was offered.

The sitting room was pleasant and warm, nowhere near as elegant as the one back at Fairchild Manor. It was much more suited to Jocelyn’s taste. Above the fireplace, a group of framed photographs were arranged on the mantle. This was new. The Manor had no family pictures, save for a few paintings of long-dead relatives. As a child, Jocelyn had studied the names engraved on tiny gold plaques beneath the ornate frames, committing them to memory: Granville I, Charlotte, Charles, Matthew.

It was strange being part of such a legacy. The Nephilim had a way of making you feel like you were part of something great, the sacred blood of angels running through your veins, but at the same time, you could feel like nothing at all. Jocelyn would never be immortalized in a painting; her childhood memories and milestones were captured in photographs tucked away in leather-bound albums stacked on shelves in her father’s study, gathering dust. She’d always loved how Elisabeth filled their home with family photos. In fact, for years, there had been a framed photo of herself, Lucian, and Amatis standing in front of the Graymark’s Christmas tree propped up on Elisabeth’s nightstand. _It’s probably still there_ , Jocelyn thought, a hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She shook her head to clear it, stepping closer to the mantel to examine the photographs. They seemed to have been arranged chronologically: herself as a baby in a long gown she’d been put in for her birth ceremony, herself growing older from photo to photo, always dressed in either frilly party dresses (in which she looked uncomfortable and tense) or traditional Shadowhunter black (in which she looked like herself). The most recent photo had been taken on her sixteenth birthday, about a month before she’d left for Alicante. She was standing by the window that looked out over the backyard, summer sun pouring in and glittering her hair as it tumbled over her shoulders. She wore a sweeping emerald green dress and a bored expression, several faint Marks winding up and down her arms, barely visible. 

Jocelyn squinted at the photo. This version of her was only about seven months younger, but it seemed as though there were worlds separating the two of them. Her face had been slightly rounder then, her arms and legs long and slender. As she let her eyes unfocus, she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the glass of the frame. The present-day Jocelyn had arching, defined cheekbones and a slightly harder expression, as though she were daring the room to challenge her. With effort, she relaxed her face, looking down at the shape of her calf muscles beneath her black leggings. She felt like she could run ten miles without stopping, climb to the top of the highest tree in Brocelind Forest without breaking a sweat. The Academy had changed her; she’d known all along, but she’d never seen the visceral proof until now.

“Do you like the room, darling?” Adele asked, materializing behind her. She held out a glass of red wine to her daughter.

“It’s wonderful, Mother,” Jocelyn answered. “You’ve done a wonderful job decorating.” 

“Thank you, darling.”

“I like…” Jocelyn frowned, taking a sip of wine. It was strange, being cordial to her mother after all these years of arguments and sarcastic comments. “I like the photographs.” 

Adele blinked in surprise, then relaxed into a smile.

“Thank you, darling,” she said again, but this time it sounded much more sincere.

  

* * *

 

 

The moon hung high in the sky like a giant silver coin as Jocelyn walked back to the Academy. It was a calm night; a breeze gently ruffled her hair as she turned onto Princewater Street. Nearly everyone seemed to be off the streets by now, shopkeepers closing up for the night, calling goodnights to each other.

Jocelyn was still ruminating on the topic of her parents, specifically her mother. Adele had changed so much recently, and yet somehow she was still the commanding presence Jocelyn had always known, marching dramatically into rooms and capturing everyone’s attention. But there was something new, something that had only really begun to creep to the surface. She wondered if her father had noticed. Maybe she should try to talk to him sometime - head up to the canal house when Adele was out.

She was so lost in thought that she almost missed the sound of laughter coming from somewhere off to her right. In fact, she might not have heard it at all if it hadn’t been for the sudden smell of smoke which brought her back to earth. She stopped dead in her tracks, sniffing the air. Was someone’s house on fire? Was the _Academy_ on fire?

Without hesitating, she tore off in the direction of the smoke, sprinting around the eastern side of the school building. It was then that she heard the laughter. She allowed herself to slow down, still taking care not to make too much noise, crunching on twigs or frozen snow. Several trees blocked the far side of the practice yard from public view and Jocelyn was coming up on them now, certain that this was the source of the smell and noise. She had a sudden bizarre vision of Valentine losing his mind and setting fire to the trees and had to bite down on her lip so she wouldn’t laugh out loud.

As she neared the practice yard, she was able to pick out particular voices. There was the high-pitched chatter of a female voice, quickly followed by a lower, less discernible hum of someone male. For a minute, Jocelyn felt queasy as the thought occurred to her that maybe she was inadvertently walking into yet another one of Amatis and Stephen’s dates. This fear was quelled as a whole chorus of voices began speaking at once, seeming as though they were all trying to talk over each other while simultaneously trying to stay quiet. 

Despite the fact that the trees had been stripped bare in the cold, they were clustered so closely together that Jocelyn couldn’t see anything past their wide trunks. If she wanted to figure anything out - and by this point, a lead block of uneasiness had settled in the pit of her stomach - she needed to get up high. And she needed to hear what was going on. Spying from her bedroom window wouldn’t cut it anymore.

She rolled her shoulders back and stretched her legs as best as she could. It had been awhile since she’d properly climbed a tree, but it had always been one of her favorite things. She pulled off her cloak and wrapped it several times around her knuckles to protect her hands before gripping the bark of the nearest tree and hoisting herself onto its lowest hanging branch. From there, she scrambled higher and higher, heart thrumming in her chest as the ground grew blurrier beneath her. Finally, when she was up so high she felt she could go no further without being in danger of falling, she crouched on one branch, looking down at the practice yard sprawling before her.

Sure enough, there was a bonfire. Not a huge one, but a respectable one all the same, crackling brilliant orange in the center of the clearing. A small group of dark figures was gathered around it, some warming their hands, some chatting amongst themselves. One person near the edge was tossing crumpled paper almost methodically into the fire, watching the flames lick higher. She wasn’t close enough to see what was on the papers, but as her eyes adjusted and her heart rate slowed enough for her to calm down, she could put two and two together. 

The paper-thrower had light hair that glimmered in the moonlight, almost as if he were made of the same stuff as the stars. He appeared taller than most of the others and held a heavy book in the inner crook of his elbow; as he leaned into the light to forcefully throw another balled-up paper into the flames, the cover of the book caught Jocelyn’s eye. She owned the same one… it was currently sitting on the bookshelf in her room upstairs. _A Brief History of the Accords_ , it was called.

Jocelyn exhaled through her nose, rolling her eyes. Of course. She’d inadvertently stumbled into a Circle meeting.

Now, understanding what she was looking at, she could pick out familiar figures. There was little blonde Celine in a wool peacoat, standing next to her friends Bianca and Kiva with her hands folded. There was Hodge, predictably; he seemed to be staring into the fire with great seriousness. Jocelyn imagined that he couldn’t possibly approve of the blatant defacing of books that was going on in front of him. There was Robert, even bulkier than usual under a winter coat, standing by a curly-headed boy who could only be Michael Wayland. Jocelyn frowned, remembering Michael’s criticism of Valentine over Christmas. Had he changed his mind? Maybe Robert had dragged him there… although Robert had never seemed to be a big fan of Valentine either. 

“-A perversion of the laws the Clave claims to hold dear!” Valentine’s voice boomed suddenly, seeming to grow in volume with passion. Jocelyn craned her neck forward, eager to hear. “Would the Angel Raziel, the Angel who tasked us with the protection of mankind, encourage the continuation of this filth? The cohabitation of his disciples and these uncivilized beasts?” 

“No!” A female voice cried, and Jocelyn noticed with a jolt that it was Maryse - of course it was. Her hair hung down her back, long and sleek. “We’re better than that. We’re all better than that.”

There was a murmur of assent through the group.

“But Valentine,” Michael asked urgently. “What do we _do_? I still don’t understand. I get that the Accords are a lie-”

“The Accords are a _travesty_ ,” Maryse interrupted, and again a wave of agreement seemed to pass through the group. Jocelyn squinted as hard as she could, desperate to identify more of the participants, but so many of them were bundled up in coats and scarves - it was too difficult. 

Valentine nodded gamely in Maryse’s direction. “It is indeed a travesty that we live under a Law that has decreed that we must live in harmony with half-men. But Michael, you ask an excellent question. What do we do?”

He scanned the crowd, seeming almost amused, before repeating himself. “What do we _do_?” 

“We attempt to right the wrongs,” Hodge spoke up, voice quivering slightly.

“We don’t _attempt_ ,” Robert said scathingly. “We do it. We _do_ right the wrongs. We rewrite history.”

“You’re correct, Robert,” said Valentine. “From this day forth, every Nephilim history book will bear our names. We will be the great warriors, the brave soldiers, the triumphant saviors. Perhaps even the revered martyrs. To live and die by this cause… that is what this entails. That is what I am asking of you. I ask you all to swear that as we move forward, you will stand by my side. You will stand by the Circle. Michael, do you swear to stand by the Circle, no matter the personal risk or cost?”

Michael hesitated, but only for a brief second, a second during which Jocelyn clung to her branch so tightly she felt her fingers going numb. _Please no. Please don’t say it._

“I do swear,” he said finally, and his voice was firm.

“Robert, do you swear?”

“I do swear,” Robert said instantly.

Valentine called upon each member of the Circle gathered before him, and with each iteration of “I do swear,” the group seemed to gain energy. The air was almost humming with excitement, with the promise of a new world to be forged. Jocelyn could feel the very edges of it ghosting past her, so strong that she felt it was actually tangible, that if she reached out through the cold February air she would actually be able to touch the level of devotion and passion these teenagers - her classmates, her friends - felt toward this cause. The sensation was so uncomfortable that she had almost decided to retreat, to climb back down the tree and head off to bed, when she heard it.

“Lucian, do you swear?" 

Out of the shadows stepped a smaller figure, a thinner figure, pushing back the hood of his winter coat. His hair was rumpled, his eyes wide and flickering like the flames before him, and yet his hands were steady. Jocelyn clung to the tree trunk to prevent herself from falling. 

“I do swear.”

 

* * *

 

It was three days before Jocelyn felt like she could speak to anyone.

Feigning illness, she had curled up in one of the infirmary beds, lying down and closing her eyes whenever the nurse walked by. The rest of the time she sat with her knees pulled to her chest flipping through her school books. It was no use. There was plenty in there about what weapon to use against a Behemoth demon and how to train yourself to have perfect balance by walking across a tightrope barefoot, but nothing about what to do when your best friend joins a cult.

“I will not be dramatic,” she mumbled to herself on the morning of the third day, slamming shut _European Demons Demystified_ and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She was sick of lying around, sick of all the moping and crying she’d been doing over the past few months. When had everything become so damn difficult?

She was especially sick of wearing the same white cotton nightgown for three days straight. Quickly, before the nurse could catch her, she dressed in her Academy skirt and sweater, wrestling into the same pair of tights she’d worn several nights ago to have dinner with her parents. They were the only pair she hadn’t ripped since arriving in Alicante. She probably could’ve snuck upstairs to borrow some from Maryse, but that would’ve involved talking to people.

What _was_ this place, anyway? Jocelyn shoved her feet roughly into her favorite black ballet slippers. Everyone she thought she had known had turned out to be someone else - someone crazy. It was just a giant school filled to the brim with crazy people. And the worst thing was that these were _her_ people - these were the young Shadowhunters of Idris, some of them from the most prominent Nephilim families in the world. This was her group, the people she would know for the rest of her natural life. And they were all gradually falling into some society ruled by a madman. 

Well, not all of them. 

Amatis’s room was huge - it was actually intended to be a triple, but she only had one roommate, a younger girl named Rachel Whitelaw. It was located on the other side of the building from Jocelyn’s and the sunlight streamed through the wide window in a way that she wasn’t familiar with; immediately it seemed that much more appealing.

The door had already been cracked open when Jocelyn reached it, so she’d pushed it open slowly, letting the hinge creak to announce her presence. Amatis sat at her desk, engrossed in a book. She looked up in surprise. 

“Jocelyn! Hi! I haven’t seen you in awhile. Are you feeling better?”

She shrugged, slipping inside. “I’m fine. Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Jocelyn closed the bedroom door with a soft _click_ , walking further into the room. Amatis had decorated just as precisely and efficiently as she had back home at Graymark Manor. Everything was tucked away into its proper place: an assortment of neutral colored scarves hanging neatly on a hook by the door, her yellow floral bedspread tucked crisply under two fluffy pillows, rows and rows of textbooks and favorite books from home lined up on her shelves according to color. She had several framed photos arranged throughout her side of the room - on her bedside table, her desk, her dresser - and the watercolor Jocelyn had painted of the brook behind their houses hung above her desk.

Rachel’s side of the room was much more sparse; apparently she’d arrived in Alicante quite young when she’d been orphaned four years ago. The plan had always been for her aunt and uncle, who ran the Institute in New York City, to take her in when she was old enough, and as such, it seemed that Rachel had never fully settled in here, regarding it as a temporary home. The only personal touch seemed to be a simple armchair that matched the color of her pale pink bedspread; it looked warm and inviting in the sunlight streaming in through the window. Jocelyn crossed the room and settled into it, facing Amatis. 

“I want to talk to you about Lucian,” she said.

“Oh?” Amatis frowned. “Is he alright? Did something happen?”

Jocelyn hesitated, looking down at her hands, which was enough to send overprotective Amatis into a frenzy.

“Jocelyn?” She vaulted out of her desk chair, hurrying across the room to crouch next to her. “What happened?!”

“Do you know that he’s been hanging out with Valentine?”

Amatis’s face immediately faded from panicked to exasperated. “Yes, Jocelyn. And you knew that too. He’s been helping him train, remember?”

Jocelyn shook her head. “No, no, it’s more than that. A couple nights ago I caught him in the practice yard-”

But Amatis was already getting to her feet, walking back to her desk and throwing some books into her beat-up leather backpack.

“Where are you going?” Jocelyn asked, extremely affronted. “Listen to me! He was in the practice yard with Valentine - the Circle was there-”

“The what?” Amatis was busy combing her hair in front of the mirror now, carefully examining her reflection with a type of vanity Jocelyn wasn’t used to seeing from her.

“The Circle! Valentine’s freaky cult, remember?! He was there… in the practice yard… they were all there!”

“Who was there?”

“By the Angel, Amatis.” Jocelyn threw up her hands in exasperation, sinking back into the armchair. “I’m not going to keep repeating myself. The Circle. Maryse, Robert, Hodge, Michael-” 

The door flew open and in burst Stephen Herondale, a blur of bright blonde hair and laughing blue eyes. He was dressed in gear, but it looked almost out of place on him, too much like a warrior.

“Amatis, do y- oh! Hey Jocelyn!” Stephen jumped a little guiltily, noticing Jocelyn in the corner. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she said bitterly. 

“Okay… Amatis, are you ready to go?”

Amatis swung her backpack over one shoulder, looking over at Jocelyn.

“Joss, I’m sorry, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about here. I’m going to help Stephen out with his class, okay?”

“You don’t need to talk to me like I’m three,” Jocelyn mumbled, getting out of the chair and striding over to the door, leaving them before she could be left.

She was already into the hallway when she heard Amatis mutter something that sounded strangely like, _Then don’t act like you are._

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Jocelyn found Lucian in the library. He was tucked in the back corner by the windows, balancing a heavy book on his knees and focusing intently. The pose reminded Jocelyn so intensely of _her_ Lucian, the one from their shared childhood, that she wanted run and hide and maybe cry. Instead, she walked up to him and stood there.

Slowly, he came out of his reverie, pulling himself away from the book and looking up slowly from her ballet flats to the stress lines tugging across her forehead. He scrambled to his feet, letting the book hit the ground with a dull thud.

“Joss, are you okay? Eleanor said you were in the infirmary so I went by but the nurse sent me away - she said you were sleeping - but I kept coming back and finally she said you didn’t want to see anyone because you weren’t feeling well and I thought it must be something really bad-”

She reached out and grabbed his shoulder gently to stop him mid-sentence, laughing quietly. “Shut up. I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?” He worried his chapped bottom lip with his teeth.

“I’m _fine_. Don’t worry about me.” She was shocked to realize how much she actually meant it. The energy she used to summon for these kinds of confrontations seemed to be nonexistent. Maybe there was some hidden surplus of it tucked away in the corner of her mind and she had finally exhausted it all. She just wanted to collapse and sleep for a million years and never yell at someone she loved ever again.

They regarded each other curiously for a few moments. Jocelyn had the strange sense that they were relearning each other, which made absolutely no sense; it had only been a few days since they had last seen each other. But she couldn’t shake her last mental picture of him: his innocent face illuminated in the light of the bonfire, flames crackling in the bitter February air, a crowd of intimidating dark shadows clustered around him. Shadows that threatened to steal him from her.

“Lucian,” she said softly. Her voice was steady, non-accusatory. “Why did you go to the meeting?”

For a moment he seemed confused, and then realization slid over his face as sure and gradual as the sunrise. He took a step backward. She expected the questions and accusations to start flying, but apparently he didn’t want to fight either. 

“It’s not like we thought,” he said simply, shrugging. “Valentine… the Circle, that whole thing? It’s so different. Being around them… it makes me feel like I actually have a _purpose_. You know that’s something I always struggled with. Valentine is actually going to teach us to do important things, to have a voice in our future! It’s honestly not like we thought at all.” 

Jocelyn frowned and then plopped down on the floor, patting the space on the hardwood surface next to her, inviting him to sit. He took the invitation, sighing heavily as he sat down.

“How can it not be like we thought?” Jocelyn asked. “Weren’t we just making fun of all of that stuff, like, a month ago?”

“We judged him too quickly, Joss. I know it was all a big joke for awhile there, but… I’ve been spending a lot of time with him, you know? And he’s not all bad. He’s really not _bad_ at all, actually. He’s been so kind to me.”

Jocelyn watched him carefully, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “He’s been _kind_ to you? Are you sure it wasn’t just condescension, like, under the _guise_ of being kind?”

“No,” Lucian laughed, shaking his head. “He talked to me about Amatis, about my parents. It seemed like he already knew some things about them.”

“I told him,” Jocelyn admitted. “Before Christmas, when he gave me that carriage ride home. It just kind of… spilled out, I guess.”

“So you do know what I mean. He just makes you feel comfortable talking to him. Do you agree with that, at least?” 

Reluctantly, Jocelyn cast her mind back to that conversation in December. She remembered a whole rush of emotions, but uncomfortable was not one of them. In a way, she realized, she had actually felt special… like she was worthy of something. That was stupid. 

“I don’t need some privileged Shadowhunter boy to validate me,” she said, resting her chin on one hand. “I don’t need him to make me feel special.”

“I’m not saying that you need someone to make you feel special, but isn’t it nice when someone does?”

Jocelyn paused at that, looking down to examine old scuff marks on the floor.

“You always made me feel special,” Lucian admitted.

She looked up in disbelief. 

“Thanks, Lucian,” she said softly, grinning in surprise. “That’s really nice.”

“You know I’m still not replacing you, right?”

“You better not be.”

“So…” he shifted slightly uneasily. “Will you come to the next meeting with me?”

“Oh God, I don’t know…” 

“Please? It’s really not weird, I promise.”

Jocelyn opened her mouth to disagree, then quickly snapped it shut. She wasn’t sure she wanted to admit to lurking in the trees observing the meeting the other night.

“What would I have to do? Sacrifice a lamb or something?”

Lucian rolled his eyes. “It’s not a cult, Joss. I promise. Would I lead you into something if I thought it was dangerous?”

She considered this. Her best friend had always been her rock, her solid voice of reason when she was in the midst of some ridiculous scheme. When they were nine and she’d come up with a plot to run away to Switzerland after a major blowout with her mother, Lucian had convinced her to put away her detailed maps and notes and stop shrieking. He’d explained to her that the only way to Switzerland was through Brocelind Forest, and unless she wanted to singlehandedly fight off an entire werewolf pack, a runaway mission just wasn’t feasible. Jocelyn could still picture him: his serious face, his steady gaze as he looked her straight in the eye.

“No, I guess not,” she shrugged. “You wouldn’t let me do anything dangerous.”

 


	13. Initiation

**Chapter Thirteen**

“You know I don’t feel great about this, right?”

Jocelyn and Lucian were walking down a winding dirt path that trailed behind the Academy, entirely obscuring them from view of the main street. If they went missing tonight, vanished into the midnight blackness somehow, no one would ever know. They would leave no traces behind.

Not that Jocelyn was scared or anything.

“It’s really not a big deal, Joss,” Lucian reassured her. “I know it sounds kind of weird, but just think of it like another class. We just stand around and Valentine talks to us… sometimes he leads discussions. Nothing strange goes on.”

“It’s the fact that we’re going to some random, undisclosed location that’s bothering me.”

Jocelyn shivered, even though the air was nowhere near as cold as it had been. It was the second week of March and an unexpected warm front had rolled in, thawing the frozen ground and melting away the last traces of snow far earlier than anyone had expected.

Before heading out to the meeting, Jocelyn had dressed in a gray Merino wool sweater and jeans only to have Lucian send her back to her room, shaking his head and laughing. _Try to look like a Shadowhunter_ , he’d said, and Jocelyn had been affronted. She wasn’t used to her best friend calling the shots, correcting her mistakes.

“We’ll still be able to see the Academy,” Lucian said now, grinning. “We’re just going to the edge of the woods. That’s hardly an undisclosed location.”

They walked in silence for a few more minutes, the only sound the faint scuffing of their boots against dirt. Jocelyn twirled her stele between her fingers.

“Does he know I’m coming?” she asked finally.

“I didn’t mention it,” Lucian said.

Jocelyn sensed a deeper meaning behind his words but was too nervous and exhausted to push him further. They’d had a long day of classes; though the physical exercises were becoming easier and easier as the months went on, her brain felt like it was being wrung out like a sponge. Admittedly, she hadn’t known an enormous amount about politics before arriving in Alicante. It was like her tutors were throwing facts and dates and theories and ideas at her before she had fully grasped the last one. The last thing she had wanted to do tonight was trudge around in the woods behind the Academy, but she’d promised Lucian she would attend the next Circle meeting no matter what.

Eventually, a small group of dark figures came into view. It appeared to be no more than three boys milling around and chatting in low voices. There was a small, glowing, orb-like object lying in the grass at their feet.

“No bonfire this time?” Jocelyn asked.

“Too conspicuous,” Lucian said immediately.

“And starting a fire two feet from the Academy isn’t conspicuous?”

Lucian shrugged. “Valentine says they expect us to do things like that, a bunch of kids cooped up together. No one gets alarmed. Plus, it was freezing that night. It’s not as cold tonight, and we don’t want to attract suspicion skulking around the forest.”

“So you admit we’re skulking.”

He ignored her, looking straight ahead and raising a hand in greeting to the shadowy figures by the forest. They were so close now that Jocelyn could recognize them as Robert, Michael, and Valentine himself, hair glinting silver in the light. They had thrown their witchlight stones onto the ground, she realized now, a kind of makeshift fire.

Both Robert and Michael inclined their heads in their direction; it was a creepily similar movement, like they were puppets controlled by strings. Robert had never had a particularly sunny disposition, but Jocelyn was shocked by Michael’s expression: he looked physically pained and he was _thin_ , ridiculously thin for a male Shadowhunter. His skin was pulled tight over sharp cheekbones, giving him a vaguely skeletal appearance. His dark curls hung low over his eyes. Maybe Robert had dragged him out when he felt like sleeping too. Working as a tutor had to be exhausting work.

Jocelyn was so fixated on Michael that she almost didn’t notice Valentine’s reaction upon noticing her. She zoned back in as Lucian was already mid-sentence.

“…wanted to see what we’ve been up to lately,” he was saying. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all, not at all!” Valentine stepped forward and embraced Lucian like a brother. “It’s wonderful to see you this evening. Both of you.”

He moved to Jocelyn, taking her hand and grasping it in a warm gesture of welcome. He smiled down at her.

“Welcome, Jocelyn. I’m so glad you could join us.”

A number of sarcastic remarks tumbled through her brain, but at the last minute, under Lucian’s watchful gaze, she froze. Her best friend had been so insistent about this, so sure that she would have a good time. She didn’t want to behave like a irritable child.

“I’m glad to be welcomed,” she said politely. “Lucian has told me a lot about your meetings.”

Valentine blinked, though his smile didn’t falter. Clearly, he had been expecting the sass machine.

“Has he? Well, I do have to say, I’m impressed he convinced you to come along tonight. I thought you might very well stay on the outskirts forever, peering down at us from trees.”

Lucian frowned. “What?”

“It’s just an expression. Now, who else are we waiting on?”

“Hodge,” Robert said immediately, with a slight eye roll. “But then, we could be waiting all night.”

“The girls were leaving around the same time as Jocelyn and I,” Lucian offered. “They should be along in a moment.”

“No luck with your sister as of yet?”

Lucian smiled. “She’s been… preoccupied.”

“Love makes fools of us all,” Valentine proclaimed. “Isn’t that right, Michael?”

Michael jumped, looking at the group with a frenzied mixture of confusion and alarm as though he wasn’t sure who they were or how he had gotten there. He was saved responding by a rustling in the trees behind them. Another dark shape emerged and this time it took Jocelyn much longer to place the familiar figure.

The girl was impossibly tall, a curtain of thick black hair streaming down her back. She wore an equally black wrap dress with no coat or sweater and her porcelain skin stood out, vampire-pale, against the darkness of the night. Her lips were painted a deep blood red.

“Maryse, what took you so long?” Robert asked, with what sounded like a muted laugh. Jocelyn shook her head violently, sure that her hearing was off.

“These damn shoes,” Maryse said, leaning down to adjust one high-heeled boot.

“Wow, Maryse. It’s almost like the designer didn’t intend for six-inch heels to be worn in a forest,” Lucian said dryly, and Valentine and Robert chuckled.

“They’re _seven_ inches, actually.” Maryse tossed her hair in Lucian’s general direction, then her gaze fell upon Jocelyn. “Oh, hello! I didn’t know you were coming.”

“…Yeah,” Jocelyn said. She knew her utter astonishment was written plainly on her face but could do absolutely nothing to hide it. Everything was upside down tonight: Michael was unhappy, Lucian was confident, Robert was laughing, Maryse was enjoying herself. Pretty soon Valentine would probably start doing a tap dance.

“We’re just waiting on a few others,” Robert told Maryse as she sidled up to him.

Valentine nodded, pointing straight ahead. “I see them.”

Three small figures that looked like Celine and her two best friends, Bianca and Kiva, were flat-out running toward them, all dressed simply in black tops and dark leggings.

“We’re sorry,” Bianca panted as soon as they were within earshot. A thin sheen of sweat had appeared across her dark skin and she clutched her side, trying to catch her breath. “We got held up.”

“Stephen Herondale,” Kiva continued. “He stopped us on the stairs - wanted to know where we were going-”

“He was on the stairs at one in the morning?” Robert wanted to know.

Maryse laughed. “Oh, come on. We know where _he_ was going.”

“Please stop.” Lucian looked pained.

“Enough,” Valentine said, holding up a hand. “Girls, don’t worry about being late. What did you tell Stephen?”

“We said we were going for a run,” Bianca explained. This was plausible enough for herself and Kiva, who were quickly becoming star runners in their class. Celine, however, was probably the least likely of any of them to ever partake in physical activity. She looked at the ground, a pink flush warming her cheeks, and tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear.

Valentine didn’t look perturbed.

“No matter,” he said. “We have nothing to hide from Stephen. I’m hoping to convince him to attend one of our little meetings at some point, but he’s proving a difficult one to persuade.”

“I’ll talk to him again,” Robert said importantly.

“Thank you, Robert. Now, as we hardly have the entire night to waste, we will begin, and should Mr. Starkweather deign to arrive, one of you can catch him up after the meeting.”

Several of the Shadowhunters laughed cruelly. Apparently Hodge’s lateness was a recurring theme at the Circle gatherings.

“Now, Jocelyn,” Valentine began, stepping forward.

Jocelyn took an automatic step back. She had expected to hang in the background with Lucian, observing rather than becoming an active participant. Did she really have to be singled out so quickly?

“I have to say, I’ve been hoping you would come to meet with us for a long time. You have showed promise since the beginning. Do you recall, on our first day at the Academy, the quotation I recited at dinner?”

She paused, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze settle upon her.

“ _Aequari pavet alta minori_ ,” she said, after a moment of thought. “A lofty thing fears being made equal with a lower.”

“And what does that mean?”

“I just told you.”

“No, Jocelyn, not a direct translation. Tell me what it means.”

Jocelyn shifted uneasily. She had a pretty good idea that her own personal interpretation of Valentine’s favorite saying would not go over well with this group.

Kiva wriggled forward eagerly, eyes wide and bright in the witchlight. “Valentine? I think I know.”

“Yes, Kiva?”

“Well, it doesn’t mean ‘fear’ in the traditional sense, because as Nephilim, we are not afraid. We were given a holy mission by the angel Raziel, and as such, we naturally rank higher than the rest of humanity. Because of this ranking and all the gifts we have to offer the world, we should not want to be given equal status to mundanes, who lack the blood of the Angel, and Downworlders, who are damned and contaminated by the demons we abhor.” She looked around proudly as though expecting a gold star to be placed on her forehead.

“Excellent,” Valentine said, gracing her with a warm smile. She lit up, bouncing back to stand beside her _parabatai_ , Bianca. “Now, who can tell Jocelyn what we know about the Clave?”

“Okay, I know about the Clave,” Jocelyn interjected, annoyed. Sure, it was her first meeting, but she wasn’t an idiot.

“They’re corrupt,” Bianca piped up.

Jocelyn frowned. She had heard her father and his friends discussing politics plenty of times, but she didn’t recall ever hearing them call the Clave corrupt.

“How are they corrupt?”

“It’s their policy toward Downworlders,” Lucian said. “Valentine has been explaining this to us. Have you ever thought about what the Accords really mean, Jocelyn?”

She shrugged. “It’s a peace negotiation.”

The entire group looked very serious at this, as if she had said something terribly upsetting. Only Valentine seemed pleased; a delighted smile spread across his face.

“You’re exactly right in saying that the Clave describes their Accords as a peace treaty of sorts. But why should we strive for peace with Downworld? Why should we want them as our allies?”

“Well…” she began, determined not to look like a moron in front of her peers. “It always seemed to me that the Accords existed because it was easier than doing anything else.”

“But something more _should_ be done!” Maryse said urgently. “Don’t tell me you’re secretly one of those Downworld sympathizers, Jocelyn. Although I wouldn’t be surprised. Your family has always been close with the warlock Ragnor Fell.”

Jocelyn rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. He’s a _warlock_! He’s provided my family with medical care… we _pay_ him. Are you seriously telling me that none of your families have ever done business with a warlock before?”

“We do these things out of necessity, yes,” Valentine said with a curt nod, not taking his eyes from Jocelyn’s. “Maryse is wrong to cause you to feel guilt about this. Paying a warlock to perform a service is very different from standing beside one, calling it a friend, a lover, a sibling, a parent.”

A visible shudder carried through the group.

“The Angel never intended us to live in harmony with half-men, Jocelyn,” Valentine continued. “Have you ever met a vampire? A werewolf? A faerie?”

Jocelyn made a face. “Of course not!”

“Then take me at my word, for I have seen them. I have had my world torn apart by them. They do not deserve the protection of the Clave.” His eyes seemed to flicker, as though they glowed with fire. “They are vile, vicious creatures who thrive on death and decay, filth and corruption. They killed my father.”

These final words were a shout into the night. Jocelyn felt a shiver creep up her spine, a surprising surge of emotion rushing through her; she touched her face and was shocked to feel her eyelashes sticking together with tears. This was her fear, the terror that kept her up at night. The reality of a Shadowhunter’s life… the ripping apart of familial bonds that she had somehow evaded for so long.

Because it wasn’t only demons doing the destroying. She knew this to be true. Valentine’s father and countless other Nephilim had been murdered by werewolves… by the exact half-humans Valentine was now describing.

“Of course Downworlders are monsters,” she said softly. “I certainly don’t want to meet one, much less ally myself with one, but what’s the alternative?”

Laughter rolled like thunder through the group. Maryse and Robert turned to look at each other, smirking, their faces like cold porcelain in the witchlight.

Valentine held up a hand, silencing the crowd.

“Hush, everyone. Jocelyn asks a legitimate question and you would all be foolish to treat it as a joke.”

That got everyone serious again. Celine actually hung her head in shame.

“What is the alternative?” Valentine repeated, turning to look around at the group before facing Jocelyn once again. “Jocelyn, as you’ll soon come to see, this is the question we attempt to answer with each one of our meetings. What can we do? Some might say nothing. A group of teenagers… who are we to attempt to challenge the law, to change history?”

Jocelyn bit her lip, staring into the silver light. It seemed to burn her eyes. Then she looked up slowly, feeling Lucian’s warm presence beside her, meeting Valentine’s gaze. He looked almost fevered with passionate determination. Her heart thumped in her chest like a war drum.

“You’re the Circle,” she said slowly.

Valentine smiled the way a powerful businessman would at his most promising protégée.

“I think she’s getting it, Lucian,” he said, without taking his eyes from Jocelyn. “You’ve made the right choice in bringing her here.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I have a problem.”

Jocelyn dropped down next to Maddy on a bench in the practice yard. She was breathing a little heavily, having run all the way here from having brunch at her parents’ canal house. It was a Saturday and still early enough that most people weren’t outside yet, choosing instead to do some homework or meander down to the dining hall to meet up with friends. Maddy was wearing a fuzzy brown sweater and sitting curled up on the stone bench, a notebook open in her lap.

She smiled mischievously, turning to face Jocelyn. “I bet you do. You’ve been so out of it for the past week! I’ve been waiting for some kind of confrontation.”

“No, believe me, this isn’t a fun problem.”

Jocelyn scanned the courtyard, ensuring that they were alone.

“What’s wrong?”

Jocelyn crossed her legs, watching Maddy carefully as she wondered how to begin.

“Okay. How do you feel about the Accords?” 

Maddy blinked in surprise. This was clearly not what she had been expecting.

“You’re asking me how I feel about the Accords,” she said slowly. Jocelyn nodded. 

“Jocelyn, I don’t know if you know this, but my great-grandmother was one of the ten Nephilim who signed the First Accords. I know that’s probably not a big deal considering your great-grandfather was Granville Fairchild, who literally had the entire signing of the document dedicated to his memory, but it’s always meant a lot to me and my family.”

Jocelyn had actually forgotten this anecdote about her ancestor. She felt a brief but stinging rush of shame.

“The Accords were so important,” Maddy continued, her face very serious. “Before they were in place, Shadowhunters did terrible things to Downworlders because they were considered demonic. And they’re not! There’s a huge difference between the demons we slay and the Downworld community. They can actually be really beneficial to us.” 

“I know. My family employs the warlock Ragnor Fell. I get that Downworlders are important.”

“Why are you asking me about the Accords?” Maddy’s voice was kind, but there was something in her careful gaze that Jocelyn didn’t like. 

“Well… it’s this whole Circle thing.”

Maddy’s eyes narrowed instantly. “Valentine’s Circle?”

“You know about it, right?”

“I’ve heard things whispered here and there. It sounds like a load of nonsense. I don’t know exactly what he’s presuming to stand for, but from what I can tell, he’s preying on the most insecure kids here… the ones who are most inclined to fall for whatever crap he feeds them.”

Jocelyn winced as if she’d been slapped. 

“Jocelyn, come on.” Maddy laughed, and the sound was rough, cruel. “Look at the people he’s recruiting. The small, weak ones like Hodge and Celine. The naive ones like Kiva and Bianca. The crazy ones like Maryse-”

“So then what does that make me?” Jocelyn spat before she could stop herself. “What does that make Lucian?”

Maddy’s face clouded over with confusion, but only for a few seconds. Slowly, the fog cleared, her pale eyes widening, her shaking hand rising to cover her mouth.

“Oh, Jocelyn … please tell me you didn’t…”

“I didn’t what?” Jocelyn jutted out her chin stubbornly. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“You didn’t join them?”

“Not yet.” 

Maddy jumped to her feet so quickly that Jocelyn jumped, startled, as though afraid the other girl was about to hit her. She gripped Jocelyn’s hands and pulled her into a standing position, leaning in so close that Jocelyn could see every freckle dusting her nose, the slight curl of her lower eyelashes.

“Jocelyn, listen to me. I’ve known Valentine for a long time, I’ve known his family… you can’t possibly understand, there’s no way for me to make you understand. You just have to take me at my word.”

“Why should I?”

“The things I’ve heard and the things I’ve seen…” Maddy trailed off with a shudder. “You have to hear me out. Valentine’s father was a cruel man, but Valentine is delusional. He wants to rule the world. He wants to have more power than the Angel… I think if he had it his way, he’d have more power than God.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jocelyn scoffed. “You didn’t hear him talking – you weren’t there…”

“And you weren’t there during my childhood,” Maddy shot back. “Watching him grow up… you weren’t there at his father’s funeral, either, remember? You didn’t see all the others clustered around him… you didn’t see his face. Losing his father, it changed him so much-” 

“Wow, I can’t imagine why.”

“Jocelyn, _stop it_.” Maddy was actually shaking now, eyes wide and brimming with tears. “There will be no stopping him. Honestly, I believe that. I think he’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants, and ruthless people like that… you don’t want to get mixed up with them. You don’t want to go meeting up with them, joining little clubs or groups they create. He’s _recruiting_ , Jocelyn.  If you love me at all, please at least consider when I tell you that _you cannot join them_.”

Jocelyn yanked her hands out of Maddy’s grasp, staring at her in wonder. For all these months, she had thought they’d been so close, that they’d really understood each other.

“If you _knew_ me at all, you’d know that the worst thing you could _possibly_ do to discourage me is to say the exact things you just said.”

Without another word, Jocelyn turned and crossed the practice yard, boots crunching against the frozen ground.

 

* * *

 

March faded into April, the Idris rainy season, and the practice yard became constantly flooded. Regardless, the Circle meetings continued. They had become less about Valentine lecturing on his favorite topics and more about action. It was typical for Jocelyn and Maryse to arrive back at their room at three in the morning soaked in mud with scratched up knees, twisted ankles, and once, in Maryse’s case, a broken wrist. Their injuries were mended by covert _iratzes_ and, when necessary, the Academy nurses, who turned a blind eye to things like these. They were Nephilim children, of course. This was their reality.

Jocelyn had not spoken to Maddy since their argument, and she found that she hardly cared. Whenever she glimpsed her friend, she was buried in some schoolbook or another, practicing runes on notebook paper, quizzing herself on Latin verbs. The whole thing seemed ridiculous now. What did verb tenses matter if you were going to save the world with your best friend at your side?

Although Maryse hadn’t quite stepped in to refill the hole in Jocelyn’s life left by Maddy, they tolerated each other’s presence in an entirely new way. They practiced the Circle oath together one night after a meeting, both sitting cross-legged on their bedroom floor and individually tracing the words on two separate sheets of paper torn from Jocelyn’s sketchbook.

“ _I hereby render unconditional obedience to the Circle and its principles. I will be ready to risk my life at any time for the Circle, in order to preserve the purity of the bloodlines of Idris, and for the mortal world with whose safety we are charged_.”

They both hung their papers above their bed. Valentine had commanded each member to completely memorize the Oath, and neither wanted to be reprimanded. 

Stephen Herondale showed up at a meeting in early April, Amatis predictably by his side. Jocelyn and Lucian had smirked at each other, nudging each other in the ribs. They knew that when it came down to it, their friends would not be able to stand apart. Curiosity would get the better of them. Amatis explained later that Maddy had tried to get to her, to stop her from coming, but Amatis had simply laughed and waved her off.

“She doesn’t understand,” Amatis said sadly one evening as she, Jocelyn, and Lucian sat at Princewater Cafe. Many other Circle members were gathered at tables throughout the establishment, eating salads and sandwiches or drinking coffees. None of them ate meals in the dining hall anymore. It had grown too uncomfortable to hide from former friends, and plus, Valentine didn’t like the idea of members mingling with non-members. When you were in the Circle, he argued, that was it - those were your friends, those were the people you talked to. Lucian had suggested privately a few days ago that this was one of the reasons why he’d been so insistent on bringing Jocelyn to a Circle meeting: he knew that Valentine didn’t like the idea of his best friend being an outsider.

“I wish she could understand,” Jocelyn sighed, taking a bite of her cucumber sandwich. “I miss her.”

“It’s hard to be friends with someone whose beliefs don’t align with yours, though,” Lucian added thoughtfully. “I like Maddy a lot, but she chose not to be one of us. She could be sitting here with us if she really wanted to.” 

“Maybe she’ll still change her mind. I mean, we finally got _you_ here, Amatis.”

Amatis smiled, taking a sip of her lemonade. “Maddy is a lot more forceful than me, Joss. Just getting her to a Circle meeting would be one thing, but then we’d have to get her to really hear Valentine. She judged him so quickly.”

“That’s the thing!” Jocelyn pounded her fist on the table so hard that Lucian, next to her, jumped slightly. “You guys used to tease me about how I judged her back at our Marking ceremony when we first met, but she’s the most judgmental of all. I mean, look at all of us… how could so many of us be wrong? If a whole group of your friends suddenly leaves you, there’s probably a reason. What’s that thing people say… there’s strength in numbers? We can’t all be wrong about Valentine. There’s just no way.”

“Well, she’ll see reason eventually,” Lucian said heavily. “It might take years, but hopefully Valentine will still make room for her.”

“Would he?” Amatis wondered.

“I think so. He’s still bringing in members who had no idea about us or what we were doing. Mostly other Alicante kids who have graduated from the Academy… Anson and Emil Pangborn, Malachi Dieudonne. They’ll be at the meeting tonight. I even heard that he got this one kid who isn’t even old enough to attend the Academy yet… Jeremy something.” 

“He’s not even at the Academy yet?” Jocelyn asked, startled. “Should that be allowed? I mean, I know Valentine isn’t going to put us into any real danger yet, but I don’t know if it’s a good idea to have kids in the Circle.” 

“We’re kids,” Lucian pointed out. “Basically. Under the laws of the Clave, the only adults are Stephen, Robert, and Amatis. And you guys are hardly adults. No offense.” 

“None taken,” said Amatis. 

“I guess you’re right,” Jocelyn said slowly. “What is it that Valentine always calls us? The generation of enlightenment.”

“Because it’s true. This is where we’re finally given the opportunity to correct the judgment of our ancestors.” Lucian’s eyes were glittering in the same way they always did when he got to talking about the Circle. It amused Jocelyn to no end; it was like he was a miniature Valentine, a less-evolved version. “It’s our responsibility to do better. To write the history books our way.” 

Jocelyn looked around the cafe, a smile slowly working its way onto her face. All of these people, these young Shadowhunters, her peers, united for a common cause. The future spread before her so bright it glittered like _adamas_ , the promise of a future where tapestries depicting the victories of the Circle would be splashed brightly across the walls of the Gard. And at the center of it, herself and Lucian and Valentine, a venerable trio of avenging Angels.


	14. Interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is a little bit different; you'll see why! I wanted to try something new here, and I probably won't do it again for the rest of the story. Hope you enjoy! More coming soon :)

**Chapter Fourteen**

_April 10, 1987_

_Dear Mom,_

_Do you remember the first time you explained the Idris rainy season to me? I must have been four, maybe five, and I was afraid of the thunder. Splashing in the puddles was fun, but as soon as I heard that far-off rumble and felt the stillness in the air, I would come running back inside, crying._

_You told me, "It's just the sound that lightning makes, honey. It's nothing to be afraid of." I remember I was still wearing my rain boots, those red and yellow rubber ones that Dad thought were hilarious. I was clinging onto your skirt and you were trying to give Lucian his breakfast - he was just a baby then, so little he couldn't even talk yet or run around with me. I remember you sat him in his high chair, bent down to see eye-to-eye with me, and said, "Amatis, at this time of year, you'll hear that sound a lot. Don't let it frighten you… it's not something to be scared of. It's a promise of things to come. Not a warning sign. It just means that soon it will rain for a little while, and then soon it will go."_

_I tell myself that sometimes, still - the part of my mind that speaks with your voice. Soon it will rain for a little while, and then soon it will go._

"Hello?"

Amatis jumped, turning around in her chair. Someone was creaking open her bedroom door.

"Come in," she said, hurrying to flip her notebook shut and dropping her pen onto the desk. Soft footsteps crossed the hardwood floor behind her. "Joss, is this about the homework for Eleanor? Because I've told you, I'm not going to help you with that. It's not fair."

"Um… it's not Jocelyn."

Amatis looked over her shoulder in surprise. Sure enough, there stood Madeleine Bellefleur, looking apologetic. Her hair hung limply around her narrow shoulders; above the neckline of her t-shirt, her collarbones poked out, pronounced.

"Oh," Amatis said softly. "Hi."

"May I sit?" Maddy gestured to Rachel Whitelaw's bed, which Amatis had made neatly earlier that morning. For some reason, she took it upon herself to do her roommate's simple chores regularly. It wasn't like Rachel had asked her to do it - in fact, she had insisted multiple times that Amatis not trouble herself - but she found that she needed something to occupy her mind sometimes.

"Sure, sit down. Rachel's out with some friends, I think."

Wordlessly, Maddy sat, smoothing her pleated uniform skirt underneath her.

"What were you writing?"

"Oh…" Amatis said again, glancing back at her battered notebook. Several loose sheets of paper spilled out of it and she angled her body, blocking the entire thing from Maddy's view. "Nothing. Just a journal kind of thing."

"Oh. Cool."

Rain gently pattered against the window, giving something Amatis to focus on in the awkward silence inside the room. She stared at it as though she found the tracks of the raindrops on glass particularly fascinating. The sky outside was a deep gray blue, fuzzy black outlines of trees just barely visible in the distance.

"So, it's rainy today, huh?"

"Maddy. Why are you here?" Her voice was gentle, careful. If she were bolder, Amatis thought, more like Jocelyn or Maryse, she would be able to put up instant, durable walls of protection around herself, to guard herself from unpleasantness. But she had never been much for self-preservation.

"I think you know," Maddy said quietly.

"If this is about Valentine's Circle, we've already had this conversation. I think," she added hastily, politeness getting the better of her.

"Amatis, we didn't have a conversation! I tried to talk to you in the corridor and you just waved me away. I thought we were friends."

Amatis looked down at her bare feet, frowning.

"I know you probably don't understand what it's like to grow up without friends," she muttered. Maddy immediately jumped to defend herself, but she cut her off, raising her voice. "No, come on, Maddy. I know you and I know you come from a family like Jocelyn's. My family wasn't like that. Nobody brought their sons or daughters over to my house for playdates, and I didn't get invited out anywhere, either. Lucian was all I had for awhile, and then Jocelyn, but… they were little kids. I'm three years older than both of them. Being thirteen and longing to have a girlfriend to sit with and talk about boys or gossip or anything stupid and only ever hanging around ten-year-olds… you don't know how isolating that feels."

"I guess I don't."

"But so then maybe you can understand how it felt to finally come here! To be around other Nephilim my age -  _finally_ , not adults or younger children, but teenagers in my actual age group! It was like a breath of fresh air. And then on top of that, to have someone pull you aside and tell you how special and how valuable you are… and to hear that you can actually  _do_ something with these new friends, you can actually influence the world you live in…"

"That's exactly my point, though," Maddy broke in. "Amatis, you know I love you, but I seriously question Valentine's intentions in recruiting you guys. Don't you think it's suspicious that he came for Lucian first?"

"You don't need to say 'came for' like Valentine kidnapped him or something."

"Don't I?" Maddy said sharply. "I think you're too close to this situation to see it clearly. You were at Lucian's Marking, you've seen him in training here - when has he ever showed himself to be a valuable ally?"

Amatis jumped to her feet, messy brown hair cascading down her shoulders.

"If you're going to insult my brother, you can get out of my room," she said, raising a shaking hand to point at the door. "Go on. Get out."

But Maddy wasn't moving. She sat on the bed with her ankles neatly crossed like a schoolgirl, forehead creased in deep concern.

"I'm not insulting Lucian, I'm just pointing out the facts. If you were Valentine and you needed a right-hand man, you would pick someone like Robert, Stephen, Patrick… I don't know, don't you see how strange it is?"

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Did you know that Valentine asked Lucian to be his  _parabatai_?" Maddy's voice was deadly calm as she delivered this blow. It had the desired effect - Amatis froze, drawing in a sharp breath.

"Wait, he did? How do you know?"

Maddy leaned forward, speaking quickly as though she'd been sitting on these words for far too long. "I was in the library working on my Purgatic translation and I heard them talking. They were on the other side of the bookshelf from me, but their voices carried. Valentine was asking him if he'd ever considered being anyone's  _parabatai_  and Lucian said no-"

"He wouldn't say that," Amatis said, but her voice wavered. "He and Jocelyn - they were planning to be  _parabatai_  since they were six."

Maddy's hands, which had been absently raking through her hair, fell to her lap with a thud.

"Amatis," she said, and her voice was heavy with exasperation. "Drop the act."

Amatis bit her lip, sinking slowly back into her desk chair.

"He really said he'd  _never_  considered being someone's  _parabatai_  before?"

"Yes. And then Valentine asked if he would ever consider doing him the honor of becoming his  _parabatai_ , and Lucian said yes so fast he could barely get the words out."

"So they're really doing it? They've gone to the Clave?"

"I didn't hear any details past that, but they both seemed pretty damn certain."

"Wow." Amatis leaned back, stretching her legs out in front of her. "That's… wow."

"Do you see what I mean? To go to those lengths, making Lucian his  _parabatai_? That's permanent. They can never be separated after this. And I'm not so sure that your brother is taking the time to really think about what that means."

"What's to think about? Valentine is a visionary, Maddy. I know you don't see it, but he's told us so many things - about how he's going to lead us to become revolutionaries and become the voices of our generation-"

"Do you really want your brother to become a revolutionary when he's so unprepared?" Maddy asked, her voice a harsh whisper. "Look at the people Valentine surrounds himself with! The unconfident, insecure-"

Amatis flushed, folding her hands in her lap. "Okay, come on. Would you really call Stephen insecure?"

Maddy rolled her eyes. "Forgive me for blaspheming the precious Stephen Herondale. No, Amatis, he's not insecure, but then you have the other side of the coin. You have power-hungry ones, the rebels… I'm not trying to insult all of your friends, I'm just trying to help you to understand what's going on."

"I understand perfectly."

Silence fell upon the room as the girls stared at each other, neither one willing to break it. Finally, Maddy got to her feet, pulling her sweater tightly around her chest as though to block out an imaginary cold.

"This is the last time I'll bother you, Amatis. I have no desire to keep on repeating myself. I've said everything I wanted to say. You and Jocelyn and Lucian… I love all three of you. I don't want to see anything bad happen to you. But if you look at the situation objectively, you'll see that Valentine has bought you all to trade in for Jocelyn. And when he gets her, you become disposable."

She strode out of the room, leaving a stunned Amatis in her wake.

 

* * *

 

 

The velvet black sky twinkled with pinpricks of diamond light far above the demon towers of Alicante. Lucian lay flat on his back in the dewy grass of the practice yard, hands folded beneath his head. Sometimes it was nice to have a reminder that these were the same stars that shone over the manor house in the country.

The view was familiar. Ever since he'd been a child, he had spent nights lying awake in his bed back home and watching the night sky while he'd waited to hear the faint pitter-patter of Jocelyn's footsteps down the hallway. Now that he thought back on it, it seemed funny that he'd spent so much of his life constantly waiting on her. He sometimes dreamt about it. The dreams were strange, not quite nightmares but not entirely pleasant either, and he woke from them in states of total and complete confusion. There were usually trees, tall and suffocating as though he were in the depths of the forest, and he always felt unsettled, as though he were himself but not. Every one of these dreams was colored with the same realization: he was waiting for Jocelyn. Waiting, waiting, and yet she never came.

Now, lying in the practice yard, Lucian heard the faint shuffle of footsteps somewhere behind him. He sat up so quickly that the blood rushed to his head, patterns of color and light swirling before his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to clear his vision. A female figure, silhouetted by the silver light of the nearest demon tower, was approaching him. He would've known that figure anywhere.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked his sister.

"I can't go for a walk at night?" There was no anger in her voice; she sounded exhausted. As she approached him, he saw that she was wearing cotton pajamas, and over that, her favorite powder blue dressing gown, a birthday gift from their mother several years ago. She took a seat in the grass beside him, crossing her legs.

"There's a meeting tomorrow night," Lucian said casually. The Circle usually relied on word of mouth to arrange their get-togethers, and as Amatis and Stephen were newer members, they didn't receive the news quite as quickly.

"Yes, I heard. Valentine pulled me aside when I was leaving the library earlier."

"Oh. Good."

Amatis cocked her head to the side, regarding her brother shrewdly. "Hey, Lucian?"

"Yeah?"

"I had an interesting conversation with Maddy yesterday."

"You guys are still speaking? I thought you finally got her off your back. If she's not going to join the Circle, she really shouldn't be bothering you."

"She came to my room. Said she wanted to bring some things to my attention. Things about Valentine, of course. All kinds of accusations."

"Accusations?" Lucian frowned. "Like what?"

"It doesn't matter," Amatis said briskly, but her cheeks were visibly pink even in the dark. His sister had never been a good liar. "It was mostly ridiculous, but she did mention one thing that…"

Lucian turned to look at her curiously. "What?"

"Well… she seems to think that you and Valentine are becoming  _parabatai_."

He paused, unsure of how to react, unable to gauge how she was feeling. "That  _is_ true. I have no idea how she knew that, though."

"She overheard you in the library. You really ought to be more careful with things like that."

"Things like what?" Lucian laughed, only mildly insulted. "We weren't plotting an evil scheme. We were talking about plans for the future. Valentine thinks it could be really great for the Circle if he had a  _parabatai_  and not just a second-in-command. And you know I've always wanted one."

"You always wanted  _Jocelyn_ ," she corrected him.

Lucian's shoulders tensed and he willed himself to keep his voice steady. "I told her I didn't want to be her  _parabatai_."

"Oh, Lucian," Amatis sighed. "I hope you didn't say it like that. You know how sensitive she can be sometimes."

"It's a conversation that's over and done with, and I'd prefer not to relive it now," he snapped.

"Fine." She plucked a blade of grass from the ground, running it through her fingers. "So it's true, then? You're going to be Valentine Morgenstern's  _parabatai_."

He nodded. He still felt like a coiled spring, as though his nerves would snap at any moment, catapulting him into turmoil.

"When?"

"Soon," he said simply. "Not long until Valentine turns eighteen. We only have a short window of time."

She hummed in assent, then fell silent again.

"Amatis, what's the big deal? Don't tell me you agree with Maddy. Do you think Valentine's brainwashing all of us, or whatever it is that Maddy's telling you?"

"Of course not. I just…" She looked over at him, blue eyes wide in the moonlight, so similar to his own. "It's dangerous, being in the Circle and everything. I know you know that… but being Valentine's  _parabatai_ , going where he goes, doing everything he does… you're my little brother. I have to watch out for you. That was all fine when the worst trouble you could get into was one of Jocelyn's adventures, but this is serious. This is real danger."

"When you were initiated into the Circle, you knew you were getting into real danger. This shouldn't be anything new to you."

"It's not!" Amatis insisted. "I just… I don't want you to make any snap decisions just because you want to feel special."

He stared at her.

"Come on, Lucian. I'm not trying to - well, look at it objectively. You've been in Jocelyn's shadow all these years - you've said that yourself," she added hastily, noting the look on his face. "And then finally Valentine comes along and offers you the chance to be in power and shine in your own right. I just don't want you to get carried away and not think about what being his  _parabatai_ would really mean."

"I've thought about it," he said. "And I don't need the whole self-esteem lecture. I get that enough from Jocelyn."

"She's just doing what she thinks is best. She wants you to believe in yourself." Amatis hesitated. She seemed to be weighing something in her mind.

"If that's all you have to say, I'm going to bed," Lucian said, starting to get up.

Her hand shot out, gripping his shoulder. "Look, Lucian. Speaking of Jocelyn…"

He sighed, sinking back to the ground.

"What happened there?" she asked in a half-whisper. "All these years, you two talking about being  _parabatai..._ "

"I changed my mind," he said, but Amatis was already shaking her head so hard that her ponytail whipped her across the face.

"Lucian, no. No. That's not what I'm asking." She leaned closer, lips drawn in a thin, angry line. "Why did you lie to her?"

He blinked, startled. "What are you talking about?"

"Why did you lie to her?" she asked again. "Why did you keep telling her you would be her  _parabatai_  long after you knew you couldn't?"

It was like being punched in the stomach. Lucian stared at his sister for a long moment. He thought maybe in that moment he could see into her soul, and just maybe she was seeing into his, realizing that perhaps they were not as alike as she had always assumed. He hoped this was the case.

"Because I'd be breaking her heart either way," he said simply.

He lay back down in the grass, feeling the change in the silence. Amatis would say no more, he knew. Their conversation was over. High above their heads, the stars flickered on, oblivious.

 

* * *

 

 

The first Circle mission was scheduled for May.

With every passing day, the air seemed to thrum with excitement as the Circle members wondered what Valentine had in store for them. It seemed like the puzzle pieces of Jocelyn's life in Alicante were finally falling into place; she had friends now, real friends, the type who would lay down their lives for her. She had always had Lucian and Amatis, but everything had escalated now. Lucian had taken to spending nights in her room again just like they had as children, except now he slept on his duvet cover on the floor.

Maryse no longer slept in the room, a fact that barely registered with Jocelyn. In the past, this was the kind of thing that she would have hyper-analyzed with Maddy, sitting on the roof, deep in speculation: if she wasn't sleeping here, where  _was_ she sleeping? And, more interestingly, with  _whom_ was she sleeping?

But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Instead, she and Lucian stayed up long into the night focused on a new cause, a candle burning on the floor between them as they went through their Circle notes and discussed and deliberated for hours on end.

The subject of Valentine dominated every conversation. Jocelyn recognized this even as it was happening, took note of the words pouring out of her mouth, how every sentence began with "Valentine wants" or "Valentine said" or "Valentine thinks." But it just didn't matter - Lucian was just as invested as she was, just as eager to pick apart every single one of the quotes they scribbled in their notebooks during information meetings. It had become the great equalizer for their friendship, finally giving them something to care about exactly the same amount. An experience they could share.

Circle meetings had changed dramatically in the weeks since Jocelyn had officially joined their ranks. In the practice yard one chilly evening in April, she surveyed the faces around the bonfire, flickering in and out of shadows. She crouched on the ground next to Lucian who was gazing up at Valentine at his left; in many ways, he was Valentine's right-hand man, and it had happened naturally. It surprised her that one of the other boys hadn't been chosen to fulfill this role, but then a lot of things had been surprising her over the past few months, Lucian most of all. He seemed to have a natural aptitude for being Valentine's main sidekick, and this didn't even bother her the way it might have a few months ago. She remembered the fit she'd thrown upon discovering that Valentine had helped her best friend learn how to throw a knife and actually smiled wryly at her own previous naivety. Why had that been such a big deal?

As the group stood to leave, Lucian drifted over to Stephen, who said something in a low voice, gesturing broadly. Lucian laughed. Jocelyn watched this with vague interest as she tucked her stele into the loop on her weapons belt. She was moving toward them when she heard someone Valentine call her name. He was stoking the fire with a stick, calmly watching the flames flicker and spark.

She regarded him over her shoulder for a long moment, then turned to walk toward him.

"Yes?"

"Would you mind staying for a moment?" Valentine's tone was apologetic, like a supervisor about to give an employee extra work. Patrick Penhallow clapped him on the shoulder as he passed, and Valentine smiled, nodding a goodbye.

"Of course I wouldn't mind."

"Excellent."

With a satisfied nod at the dying embers at his feet, Valentine turned to watch the retreating backs of the Circle members as they headed into the Academy. It was close to two in the morning and the moon hung high in the black sky like an enormous silver dollar. The light cast the figures into shadow, but still Jocelyn was able to identify Lucian; he was walking backwards and looking in her direction. She raised a hand and nodded once, a gesture that he returned, understanding the message: she was safe, she was fine.

Valentine was watching this unfold with a cool impartiality. Then he turned to Jocelyn, smiling widely.

"Have you been enjoying the meetings, Jocelyn?"

"Of course," she said again. "You know the family I come from. They've always stressed the importance of creating your own legacy."

"And yet you seemed so reluctant when I first approached you. I have to say, Jocelyn, I guard my feelings well, but that did hurt me."

"Oh." Jocelyn flinched. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… well, I didn't understand what you were doing. I guess I didn't know your purpose in seeking followers. I thought you were just being weird."

Valentine laughed, and the sound was warm, rich, as though they were the oldest of friends. It was a sound that instantly calmed Jocelyn, reassuring her, like a warm mug of hot chocolate or a crackling fire on Christmas Eve.

"It's not your fault for not understanding," he said with a shrug. "Perhaps I came on too strong. I didn't make my true intentions known. But now you understand, do you not? You see what I was hoping to build?"

"I understand. If you'd asked me at the beginning of the year, I wouldn't have even thought any of this was possible," Jocelyn laughed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "But I didn't know. I didn't have a clue about any of this stuff… the Accords, the situation with Downworlders, the failings of the Clave… I would've thought my father would have told me about it."

"Ah, but the older generation can be hopelessly out of touch. I'm not saying that your father is ignorant, of course!" Valentine held up a hand. "I'm merely saying that with every generation comes a change in the tide. Our parents certainly achieved some things during their youth, but it's like I always say, Jocelyn… it's our turn now. It's time for the Clave to learn from their sons and daughters. And they will  _thank_ us. They will carve statues of us, write our names in the annals of history."

"I know," she said earnestly. "I understand."

"You are an excellent fit for the Circle, I must say."

She jolted, surprised to feel a warm blush creeping across her cheeks. It wasn't often that Valentine doled out compliments.

"Oh… thank you."

"There are several of you who are particularly stellar additions to our group, but you, Jocelyn, are utterly indispensable. Your practical mind, your dispassionate intelligence… these are gifts. I do hope you realize that."

"Thank you," she said again, wishing she could come up with something more insightful to say, some way to communicate her thanks. All these years, she had been called  _pretty_ and  _lively_ and  _spirited_ time after time. Never had anyone called her intelligent in that way, complimented her mind, how she operated. Not even Lucian.

"I think…" she continued, stopping to bite her lip and consider the words before she let them escape. "I think you understand me in a way that few others do. And I value that. I really… I appreciate that."

He smiled, inclining his head in a gesture of respect; it was a gesture of vulnerability at the same time, and it awakened something deep within her soul, something without a name.

"I would like it very much if we could talk politics, Jocelyn. Strategize, just you and I."

"I'd like that too," she said softly.

"Your friend Lucian…" he began, then stopped.

"Go on." Jocelyn nodded encouragingly. "What about him?"

"I remember you telling me once that the two of you were planning to become  _parabatai_. Forgive me for asking, but I was wondering if that was still your plan."

"Oh." She pushed her hair back and out of her eyes, avoiding his gaze. "Well… no. Not anymore. That was just something we talked about when we were younger."

Valentine raised his eyebrows.

"I see," he said finally. He was watching her carefully, almost as if he were daring her to break down and spill her innermost secrets. When she remained silent, he added, "How have you been, Jocelyn? Is your family well?"

"Yes, they are." She latched gratefully onto this topic. "They're very well. They actually just recently bought a second house on the canal."

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"It's nice. I get the sense that my mother wants to keep a closer eye on me, but still, it's the thought that counts, I guess."

Valentine chuckled. "Why would she want to keep a closer eye on you?"

"Who knows? I think at first she was thrilled at the idea of my going to Alicante, starting my intensive training and everything, but then it sunk in that I was really living here in the city on my own. I feel like it makes her nervous to be so far away from me because it's such a miracle that our family has remained intact this long."

"Do you think that as well?" He cocked his head sympathetically.

"Well… it  _is_ a miracle." Jocelyn shrugged. "You know what it's like, growing up expecting death around every corner. By the time my mother was my age, she'd lost both of her parents."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I hadn't known that."

"It's fine… they're my grandparents, I guess – well, obviously - but I never knew them. My mother was orphaned when she was eleven. She grew up a ward of the Paris Institute. I've met enough of her friends from Paris to get a good feel for that world."

"That Institute in particular is known for being brutal." Valentine nodded in agreement. "And quite liberal with punishment. I'm sure you know that Celine-"

"Oh, Celine's aunt wasn't the Institute head when my mother lived there," Jocelyn said quickly. "She was never hurt or anything… at least, not that I know of. But they  _were_ very strict. I think that influenced how my mother raised me. My father was willing to let me get away with a lot, but not my mother."

"It seems like she wants you to have everything that she didn't," Valentine remarked.

"You know, I think you're right. I used to think she was just hard on me for no reason, but lately… I don't know. She's been acting differently. I think that maybe…" Jocelyn swallowed. She hadn't voiced this suspicion to anyone, not even Lucian. "Maybe she was upset by how close I was to Lucian's mother. I had never even considered that until recently, but as a mother, how could that not hurt you? I'm her only child and I was basically raised by another woman by my own choice. I let Elisabeth do everything for me. I let her get involved in my life and just pushed my own mother away."

"Did Elisabeth ever encourage you to go to your own mother?"

"Oh, all the time. But I was stubborn."

Valentine raised his eyebrows again, grinning. "Was?"

"Okay, okay," Jocelyn said, but she was laughing. "I  _am_ stubborn. I think I was worse as a little girl, though. I learned the word 'no' even earlier than most kids. Elisabeth did all she could to get me to bond with my mother, and she never crossed any boundaries. She never made me clothes or tried to keep me at their house… nothing like that. She just took care of me whenever I happened to be over there, which was most of the time."

"Lucian's mother joined the Iron Sisters, did she not?"

Jocelyn hesitated. This didn't seem like her place; surely Lucian was the one to ask for this type of information.

"It's all right, Jocelyn. He told me himself soon after Christmas. I think it was an attempt to make me feel better, to commiserate, in a way. My mother passed away recently," he added, noting the look of confusion on her face.

She gasped and brought her hands up to cover her mouth. "Oh my God… Valentine, I had no idea - I'm so-"

He held up his hands, palm-up as if to say,  _What can you do?_

"And I'm over here going on and on about how lucky I am to have two living parents," Jocelyn said bitterly.

Valentine extended his hands to grab hold of her own; they were warm even in the damp, chilly air, and Jocelyn felt a crackle of electricity pass from him to her. This was the first time they had ever touched, she realized.

"You  _are_ lucky, Jocelyn," he said kindly. "Please remember that. You know what it's like, the hearts of Nephilim… so fragile, so easily broken. I did not expect my mother to live long after the death of my father. It hardly matters. I'm almost eighteen and I have you all, the Circle. We will all be fine."

Jocelyn smiled tightly. "I guess you're right."

"Remember that, Jocelyn, when you have nothing else to hold on to: we are the Circle, and the Circle is the future. Keep looking forward." He dropped her hands, putting his own into his pockets. "All right?"

She nodded.

"You should get some sleep. It's late. But Jocelyn - thank you for speaking with me. I'm enjoying getting to know you better."

"Thank you," she said politely, and was surprised to hear the note of sincerity running through her words when she added: "I'm enjoying it as well."

As she turned to leave, she glanced down at the remnants of the bonfire, now simply a pile of charred branches and crumpled bits of paper. Deep within, an orange-red flame flickered feebly, struggling to breathe in the damp air, before Valentine stomped on it hard with one leather boot, extinguishing it completely.

 


	15. Whispers

**Chapter Fifteen**

Jocelyn hadn’t planned on making a habit out of visiting her parents at the canal house, but regardless, she kept finding herself there. She had to admit, it was nice to have somewhere different to go sometimes, a nice change of pace. Since she had begun attending Circle meetings, it had become harder make it up to her parents’ house; it seemed like Valentine was pulling her away at every spare moment with some new political issue he wanted to call to her attention, to get her opinion on. She was enjoying learning more about the Accords and Downworld and the Clave, but sometimes it was tiring. Sometimes she missed the days when she had just sat around gossiping and talking with Maddy.

And then she remembered the awful things Maddy had said about the Circle and promptly stopped missing her.

“Now, sweetheart, would you like English Breakfast or chamomile? I can never remember which you prefer.” Granville was bustling around the kitchen, speaking loudly over the whistle of the tea kettle.

“Dad, I can do that,” Jocelyn said, leaning against the counter. “I make tea for myself at the Academy all the time.” 

“No, no, darling, you’re here as a guest. And you work so hard at school! You just sit back and get comfortable. I’ll meet you in the sitting room in a moment.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.”

In the sitting room, Jocelyn reclined on the sofa, resting her head against the plush cushions. She’d slept terribly the previous night, plagued by vivid nightmares; for some reason, the same imagery was repeated in each dream and seemed fairly innocuous until she woke up sweating or even crying out. The images haunted her even when she was awake, flickering behind her eyelids: blood red runes carved into her arms, Valentine standing stoically as an angel with dark wings, Lucian’s retreating silhouette. For some reason, this last image shook her the most. 

Granville walked into the room just as Jocelyn yawned tremendously. 

“They must be working you much too hard at the Academy if you’re yawning at eleven in the morning!” he chuckled, setting a gold tea tray on the coffee table in front of her. 

“No, everything’s fine,” Jocelyn said, sitting up. “Just tired. I’ve been having nightmares.”

Her father regarded her curiously, taking his cup of tea and sitting in an armchair across the room. “Anything you’d like to talk about, sweetheart?”

Jocelyn was poised to say no when an idea occurred to her. “Actually… Daddy, can I ask about the Accords?” 

He smiled. “Of course! Are you studying them in class, or is this a personal interest?”

“Um… a little of both.”

“Well, carry on!”

“Okay… uh, I know that the signing of the First Accords was a big deal for our family. Right? They were signed in your grandfather’s memory?”

He nodded. “That’s correct. This, among many other reasons is why you should be proud to be a Fairchild.”

“Yes, very proud,” Jocelyn said, rolling her eyes internally. “I guess I was just wondering… how much of that Fairchild legacy is because of what the Accords actually stood for?”

Granville frowned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “I’m not sure I follow, dear.”

“Do we, as Fairchilds, care about the Accords because they were dedicated to our ancestor? Or do we care because of what the Accords symbolize?”

“Sweetheart, why are you asking me this?” Her father chuckled, but it was an uncomfortable sound, strangely reminiscent of the evasive tone he took when Adele accused him of eating the last mini-quiche at a party.

Jocelyn shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “No real reason, Daddy. Some of my friends at school have just been talking about the Clave’s attitude toward Downworlders, wondering if maybe they’re too lenient. Stuff like that.” 

“Too lenient? My goodness, Jocelyn. I think most of current Nephilim society would agree that the Clave has taken quite an aggressive and strict stance toward Downworlders in recent years. Now, we’re nowhere near the days of the spoils of war, of course-” he laughed nervously again. “But the fact remains that we have negotiated a shaky sort of peace, and this is what we should cling to in order to preserve the stability of our world.”

“But what if Downworlders were breaking the rules?” Jocelyn pressed.

“I assure you, sweetheart, any rogue Downworlder will be swiftly dealt with and punished by Covenant law. There’s no need to worry.”

“I’m not worried!” she said, a little harsher than she meant it to. She cleared her throat. “It’s not that I’m worried, Daddy. It’s just that I’ve been discussing politics with some friends and there’s an idea going around that a lot of Downworlders get away with serious crimes while the Clave turns a blind eye-” 

“Jocelyn Charlotte,” Granville said, his eyes darkening like storm clouds. Jocelyn’s mouth snapped shut. “Need I remind you again that you are a Fairchild? I am fully in favor of the younger generation pontificating on the political climate of the day, but I will not have a daughter of mine criticizing the way our world is run.”

“Of course,” Jocelyn said hastily. Her face was flaming hot and she felt an odd kind of squirming in her chest. “I didn’t - I didn’t mean to do anything - I mean, say anything…” 

“It is fine,” her father said, but he was watching her carefully, his posture not entirely relaxed. “It’s natural to feel curious about your own culture, especially now that you are on your own and more exposed to the inner workings of Alicante. But sweetheart, you must be _careful_. It would not do to have a Fairchild gallivanting around the city questioning the authenticity and legitimacy of the Accords. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Jocelyn said, although as she twisted her sweaty hands in her lap, nothing had ever felt less clear in her entire life.

 

* * *

 

After class that afternoon, Valentine caught up with Jocelyn.

“You’ll never believe what happened,” he whispered, a wild sort of grin spreading across his face. Jocelyn tripped across the stone floor as he grabbed her by hand and pulled her into a corner.

“You pulled me by the arm so fast that I fell flat on my face and broke my nose?”

“No. I’ve been meeting up with some other young Shadowhunters - you know, recent graduates of the Academy - who are back in Alicante visiting family. I’ve spoken to the Pangborn brothers, they seem very enthusiastic about the cause-”

Jocelyn winced. “I hate Anson Pangborn.”

Valentine paused his tirade, looking at her as though she were insane. “ _Hate_ him? How can you hate him? You barely know him. He comes from an ancient and respected Nephilim family.”

“Yeah, I know. They were always on my mother’s party guest list. Anson kissed me.”

“What?!” Valentine’s eyes flashed. “When?”

“Just yesterday. We’re betrothed. Didn’t you know? It’s been arranged for years. I’m kidding,” she added disdainfully, noticing the strange look on his face. “It was a million years ago.”

He laughed in a slightly uneasy way, as though he didn’t quite know what to make of her. “Well, he and his brother are extraordinarily talented. They’ll be a tremendous asset to us. But I wanted to tell you, I’ve also convinced Samuel Blackwell and Charles Freeman to join us. They’re a bit older than us, already out of school, but I’ve convinced them to stay in Alicante for a few months and attend some meetings.”

“That’s great!” Jocelyn said, slightly distracted. Maryse had just walked out of the classroom carrying a stack of books and steadfastly ignoring the pair of them. Strange. Everybody in the Circle liked to be seen hanging around Valentine. It was unusual for one of them to pass up that opportunity. Jocelyn’s eyes narrowed as she watched Maryse leave, her long black ponytail swinging.

“Jocelyn, are you listening?”

“Yeah,” she said, shaking her head to clear it. Valentine’s face came back into focus. “Samuel Blackwell and Charles Freeman. Awesome.”

“We’re going to need to continue making connections,” Valentine said thoughtfully. “We’re going to need all the reinforcements we can possibly have when we leave for this mission.”

“When are you going to tell us what the mission actually is?”

“In time,” he said unhelpfully.

“You can’t at least tell me?” Jocelyn pursed her lips, making what Amatis had always called her disgruntled puppy face.

Valentine laughed despite himself. “You’ll know very soon, Jocelyn.”

Someone cleared their throat behind Jocelyn. She turned, expecting another Circle member; instead, a small girl of about 14 was standing there, rocking back and forth nervously. The girl was small and dainty-looking, with thin golden brown hair that brushed her shoulders gently. Jocelyn had seen her in the library a few weeks ago and jumped all over her in excitement after realizing that she was reading _Wuthering Heights_. Her name was Ailsa, she thought.

“Hi!” Jocelyn smiled warmly. “What’s up?”

Ailsa didn’t return the smile, fidgeting with a hair tie around her wrist. She blinked several times, quickly, and then straightened up, steeling herself for this next task.

“I wondered if I might have a word with you, V-Valentine.” She spoke with a soft Scottish lilt, but her voice shook as though she were afraid of being admonished.

Valentine was frowning, toying absently with the strap of his school bag as he looked the girl over. Confused, Jocelyn turned to him. It wasn’t like him to be so rude, especially not to some impressionable young kid who was clearly seeking him out for a purpose.

“Go ahead,” he answered finally, still watching her.

“I’ve heard about the Circle, and I…” She chewed her top lip nervously, eyes darting to Jocelyn once before flicking back to Valentine. “I wondered if I might join. I’m passionate about the cause, you see. I think I… I could be an asset.”

A heavy moment of silence settled over the group. Jocelyn was about to cut in to diffuse the tension when the girl spoke again.

“I… I’m a student here. I’m Ailsa Gladstone-”

“I know who you are,” Valentine said calmly.

Her eyes lit up with hope. “You do?”

“Yes. Your brother was Callum Gladstone, correct?”

Ailsa froze, wide grey eyes fixating on Jocelyn as though begging her for help. Jocelyn looked on, unsure as to what was going on and what this girl expected her to do.

“Callum is still alive,” Ailsa said uneasily. “He’s not - I mean, I don’t-”

“He is _not_ alive.” Valentine’s voice boomed through the empty corridor. “Nor is he dead.”

Jocelyn, now utterly bewildered, opened her mouth to make a smart remark, but fell silent at the look on Valentine’s face. His eyes flashed like heat lightning.

“Please, Valentine - it was an accident - I don’t even _see_ my brother anymore-”

Valentine seemed to be ignoring her now, rooting through his bag of school things.

“Ailsa,” Jocelyn said softly, taking a step forward. The girl gasped and stared up at her in fear. “No - hey, I’m not going to hurt you! But you might want to just leave… it’s okay, everything will be-”

“Here.” Valentine had appeared at her shoulder. He held out a hand, a sharp wooden spike lying flat across his palm. “Take this to the vampire, the creature that was formerly your brother. Stake him. Bring me his ashes. Then, and only then, will you be allowed into the Circle.”

Ailsa stared at Valentine in horror, taking several clumsy steps backwards. Her shoes were coming untied but she didn’t seem to notice as she tripped over the laces. With wide eyes brimming with tears, she looked to Jocelyn once more before turning to run, clattering down the hallway, backpack swinging haphazardly over one shoulder.

Jocelyn revolved on the spot to face Valentine.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “Are you kidding me?”

Valentine was rearranging the books in his bag. He looked wholly unconcerned by the conversation that had just transpired.

“What’s wrong, Jocelyn?”

“Look, you didn’t have to be so rude to her! You can’t be blatantly cruel to other Nephilim. Acting out like that, treating her that way… do things like that and you’re no better than a Downworlder.”

“Jocelyn…” Valentine looked up, searching her face for a trace of understanding. “Her brother is a monster.”

“Ailsa’s brother might be a monster, but she’s not! She’s one of us, remember? She’s here at the Academy just like us. You heard her trying to defend herself… ‘it was an accident’… she didn’t plan for that to happen to her brother. You were so cruel to her over something that’s not even her fault!”

He stared at her for a moment longer. For a moment, Jocelyn thought he might lash out; it was difficult to read his cool demeanor, to decipher the meaning of the flickering light behind his eyes. Finally, he spoke, and to Jocelyn’s relief, his voice was steady.

“I’m afraid of losing myself in all this sometimes, Jocelyn.” His shoulders slumped. “It’s why I need you. You keep me human.”

Jocelyn gave him a small smile, unsure of what to say to that. Wordlessly, she reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

“You stick with me.”

She meant the words to sound reassuring, but to her ears, they rang loudly with power. Everyone had always told her how strong she was and she had always known the way she could hold Lucian in the palm of her hand, manipulating and twisting his thoughts; in the face of it all, it was something else entirely to have power over Valentine.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning of the next Circle meeting dawned bright and warm. As May approached, the rain had begun to slow; the practice yard had dried out, the grass growing tall and brilliantly emerald green. Even though the meeting wouldn’t start for hours, Jocelyn woke up early, excitement coursing through her veins.

Maryse was nowhere to be found, Jocelyn noted as she dressed for breakfast. This was hardly unusual anymore - for weeks she had only been stopping by the room to pick up clothes, books, and other supplies. But she hadn’t been by recently. In fact, Jocelyn realized as she yanked her sweater over her head, Maryse’s side of the room barely looked lived-in at all. Her collection of perfume bottles that usually lined the windowsill, sparkling in the sunlight, had vanished. The top of her dresser was now completely bare; in the past, it had been cluttered with books, makeup, and framed photographs.

“Jocelyn?” Amatis appeared in the doorway, tying her Academy sweater around her waist. “Ready for breakfast?”

“Come here and look at this,” Jocelyn said, gesturing her closer. “But shut the door, okay?” 

“What’s going on?” Amatis asked as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

“I don’t think Maryse is living here anymore.” Jocelyn crossed the room to her roommate’s dresser, gently easing open the top drawer. Sure enough, it was completely empty. “All of her things are gone.”

“Well, yes,” Amatis said with a shrug. “She’s been staying in Robert’s room.”

Jocelyn dropped the second dresser drawer with a thud that echoed around the room, its brass handle clanging. “Wait, Robert _Lightwood_?”

“Yes. They’re dating.” Amatis laughed. “Did you not know?” 

“How would I know? It’s not like I pay a lot of attention to Robert’s love life.” She made a disgusted face.

“Well, they’ve been together for awhile. I’ve seen her coming and going from his room all the time.”

“Okay, so that explains where she’s been sleeping, but why would she take her stuff out of our room? I mean, it’s right down the hall. I’m sure Robert doesn’t want all her makeup scattered all over his room.” 

“I don’t know, Joss. Why do you care? It’s not like you guys were staying up all night eating popcorn and braiding each other’s hair.”

“Yeah, but…” Jocelyn frowned, backing away from what she had now determined was a completely empty dresser. “I thought maybe she liked me. Even if I never liked her, that doesn’t mean she can’t like me.”

Amatis laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous. Come on, let’s go to breakfast.”

But things only became stranger when the girls reached the dining hall.

As they crossed the threshold, Lucian waved to them from the table by the fire where a bunch of Circle members were gathered. Breakfast was the most casual meal at the Academy as nothing was formally served; you could grab cereal or fruit from the kitchen or make tea or coffee. Some of the students preferred to go out for breakfast and bring food back to share with their friends. Apparently this was what Lucian and Valentine had done this morning; they were busily spreading bagels and pastries across the table, doling them out to their friends.

“Thanks, guys!” Amatis exclaimed, grabbing a blueberry muffin and taking a seat next to Celine. 

“Valentine basically bought out Seraph Bakes,” Lucian said around a mouthful of raspberry danish. “You guys better eat all of this.”

“Oh, I will, don’t even worry.” Jocelyn pulled out a chair next to Valentine, focusing on a paper bag of muffins closest to her. Before she could sit down, there was a great scraping and clattering noise at the end of the table; a whole crowd of girls, including Celine, were getting out of their seats, leaving their breakfasts half-eaten on their plates. She watched this with curiosity, sinking down onto her chair slowly.

Amatis was watching the scene unfold with curiosity, bright blue eyes wide.

“Where are you all going?” she asked. Most of them were already halfway out of the dining hall, swinging their bags over their shoulders, falling over each other in their hurry to leave. 

“Hey!” Lucian reached out and grabbed Grace Appletree’s sweater sleeve. “You’re not gonna finish your food? What’s the rush?”

Grace, who was a year younger than Jocelyn but typically quite outspoken, opened and closed her mouth several times. It made her look like a particularly confused fish. Her brown eyes flickered between Lucian and Jocelyn several times as she shook off Lucian, taking a few steps away from the table. 

“I just - you know, last minute homework,” she said. Then she turned and took off for the entrance hall at a sprint, pulling her jean jacket on as she went.

Jocelyn turned to face the rest of the table. “Okay, I don’t want to sound paranoid, but why do I feel like that had something to do with me?” 

Lucian looked completely nonplussed. “It must have. Everything was going great before you got here - everyone was eating and talking…” 

“Bagels! All right!” Stephen Herondale exclaimed appreciatively, popping up behind Jocelyn and throwing his leather satchel over the chair next to Amatis. He sat down and leaned in to kiss her; immediately, the expression of confusion and concern was cleanly wiped off her face. She watched Stephen, smiling radiantly as he took in the mood of the table.

“What’s up? Are the bagels not good?” Stephen asked, suddenly quite serious.

“The bagels are fine, but everyone hates me,” Jocelyn said matter-of-factly.

“No one hates you.” Valentine gave her a chiding look across the table.

“Six or seven girls just got up and left as soon as Jocelyn and I got to the table,” Amatis explained. “I mean… they _ran away_ when she went to sit down.”

“Have you been forgetting to shower, Jocelyn?” Stephen asked.

“You’re hilarious,” Jocelyn retorted, but she smiled despite herself. It was hard to not like Stephen.

“Want one?” Amatis asked, holding a plate of pastries out to Jocelyn.

She bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think I’m really hungry.”

“Jocelyn!” Lucian exclaimed with his mouth full again. “You have to eat something. We carried, like, five bags of food all the way down here.”

“Would you like me to talk to the other girls?” Valentine asked, calmly spreading cream cheese on a poppy seed bagel. “I can find out what’s been going on. It’s likely nothing personal.”

“It isn’t?” Jocelyn asked darkly.

“No. You’re popular, and popularity often leads to backlash, especially in a group like ours. Everyone will be constantly competing with one another.”

Amatis nodded emphatically. “Joss, that makes so much sense. Especially considering the Maryse thing.”

“What Maryse thing?” Lucian asked, interested. “I haven’t seen her around here in awhile.”

“She’s probably off making passionate love to Robert Lightwood,” Stephen said drily. Amatis smacked him on the shoulder as the rest of the table laughed uproariously.

“ _What_?” Lucian dropped his fork with a clatter.

“They’re dating now,” Jocelyn explained. “Apparently. That’s where she’s been every night. But I just found out this morning that she’s almost completely cleaned out her room. All her stuff is gone from the drawers and everything. It’s like she doesn’t want anything to be touched by my germs or something.” 

Stephen frowned. “What’s going on with all these girls? Amatis is the only one not ignoring you?”

“I couldn’t ignore Jocelyn if I wanted to,” Amatis laughed. “It’d be like ignoring a hurricane.”

“I’m gonna choose to take that as a compliment.”

Valentine caught her eye across the table.

“Keep your head up,” he advised, and the softness in his eyes caught her off-guard. “They’ll talk about you behind your back, but that’s the best judge of success there is. No successful person ever made it through life without being gossiped about at least a little bit.”

Jocelyn smiled at him conspiratorially, feeling her shoulders relax a bit.

“Maybe I will have a pastry,” she amended. She looked up at Lucian to find him already watching her carefully.

“Good choice,” he said, grinning as he passed her the plate.

  

* * *

 

 

Over the next few hours, Jocelyn continued to worry about the strange incident at breakfast. She tried several times to catch Maryse’s eye during class or when they passed in the corridors but was never successful. The other girls merely stayed out of her way. Once in awhile, she caught clusters of them together in the library or out in town, but upon being discovered, they scattered before she could ask them what was going on.

“Thank the Angel it’s almost time for the meeting,” Jocelyn complained as she and Lucian headed up the stairs to their rooms. They’d grabbed dinner from one of the cafes off of Angel Square and brought it back to eat on the front steps of the Academy; Jocelyn was sick of girls darting away from her every time she entered a room. Even Bianca and Kiva, with whom she’d always gotten on quite well, had given her a wide berth when they passed on Princewater Street.

“You’re taking this well,” Lucian said. “This would drive me insane if it were happening to me.”

She laughed. “It might as well be happening to you. As long as you stick around me, they’re going to avoid you too.”

“Fine by me.” He patted her on the back as they reached her bedroom door. “I’ll stop by in ten and we’ll go down together, okay?”

“We better, or else one might come after me with a bow and arrow,” she called after him, kicking her door open. As she stepped inside, she happened to glance over her shoulder and spotted Bianca standing there, in front of the door to the restrooms. 

Jocelyn blinked. “Hey!”

The younger girl was already dressed in full gear: black leather pants and a gray tank top, a leather jacket tied loosely around her waist. She stood with one hip jutted out to the side, giving Jocelyn an appraising look with deep brown eyes.

“Can I help you?” Jocelyn continued, glancing up and down the hallway warily. It was rare to see Bianca without Kiva, her _parabatai_. She wouldn’t put it past the two of them to have one stand guard while the other attacked her from behind.

“I know you’re confused,” Bianca said, her voice - as Jocelyn had often noticed - almost musical. She had moved to Alicante from Sao Paulo to live with Kiva’s family when she was about seven, but had apparently never completely lost her Portuguese accent.  “I think all of this is stupid. I wanted to tell you so you would understand.”

“Oh… okay. Do you want to come in?” Jocelyn gestured to the open door behind her.

“Nah. Thanks, but I don’t want the others to see me talking to you,” she said in a whisper, leaning forward to scan the end of the hallway. Everyone else seemed to be in their rooms, preparing for the meeting.

“Okay, well, tell me what’s going on and make it quick. I still have to get changed.”

Bianca looked up and down the hall again, seeming to steel herself, standing with her back straighter.

“It’s about Valentine,” she said finally.

“What is?” Jocelyn frowned.

“That’s why most of the girls are avoiding you. They’re… jealous.”

“Of _me_? Why would they be jealous of me?” Jocelyn pushed her hair back from her face, trying to think. “Unless… do they think something is going on between us?”

“Duh.” Bianca rolled her eyes. “They’re all idiots, but hey, there you are.”

“Well, clearly,” Jocelyn said in frustration. “So they think I’m with Valentine and that’s why they’ve stopped speaking to me?”

“They think you’re going to marry him,” Bianca clarified in an undertone.

“What?!” Jocelyn’s voice rang throughout the hallway and Bianca’s eyes flashed.

“Will you shut up?”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “I just - I’m not even seventeen yet! And they think I’m going to _marry_ him?” 

“Yeah.” Bianca shrugged. “They’ve all been talking about it. They think he was on the lookout for a wife in the same way he was on the lookout for a _parabatai_. It was just a fringe benefit that he was able to start tearing you guys apart while claiming you both for his own purposes. But then I guess people like Valentine always get what they want.”

Jocelyn stared at her for what felt like a full minute, trying to pick apart her words. Did Bianca mean what she _thought_ she meant? 

“But just so you know, I don’t have anything against you,” Bianca clarified. “I don’t care who you date, but you know, Kiva’s my _parabatai_. She’s got a huge crush on Valentine - always has, since they were kids. I’ve had to endure that for years. But I’ve got to support her, and she doesn’t want me to get near you. Look, I’ve got to go - I really can’t risk being caught talking to you. I’ll see you at the meeting tonight, okay?”

Bianca gave her a somewhat reluctant half-smile, and without another word darted off in the direction of her own room, leaving Jocelyn standing slack-jawed in the hallway.


	16. Portal

**Chapter Sixteen**

When Lucian came back to Jocelyn’s room several minutes later, Jocelyn was already fully dressed in gear, sitting mutely at the end of her bed with her hands folded in her lap. 

“Hey,” he said, creaking the door open and sticking his head in. “You ready?”

She looked up at him. There were a million unsaid things in that look, and from the way he stared back, she knew he understood them all.

“Bianca said something to you,” he muttered, slumping against the doorway. “I saw her walking down here… I should’ve known she would say something before I had the chance to-”

“Why?” Jocelyn interrupted, folding her arms across her chest. “Why Valentine?”

“I have to, Joss. What it would mean for me to be Valentine Morgenstern’s _parabatai_ … I know you, of all people, will get that.”

“No, I do. I understand.” Her voice was soft, low, as she watched him slowly close the door behind him.

“I care about him. He’s helped me so much… he’s really looked out for me, you know? Taught me how to not be so down on myself and miserable all the time. We’re good fighters together! And being in the Circle, being his second-in-command… that’s everything I’ve never had.”

“I know,” Jocelyn said, and she was surprised to feel herself laughing. She felt light, almost weightless. 

Lucian let himself laugh a little as well, though he still watched her warily. 

“I thought you would wonder why it wasn’t you. I thought that’s what you’d ask me. Why I didn’t want to be your _parabatai_.”

“I know why.” 

“You-” Lucian choked on the word, his smile dying out as quickly as it had appeared.

Jocelyn could hear her own heart pounding. She felt certain that Lucian would be able to hear it too, even though he stood across the room. There was a chance she was wrong – had she misinterpreted?

“You know what they’re all saying? All the other girls? They say that Valentine picked you to be his _parabatai_ and me to be his wife.”

Lucian’s face was chalk-white. “And… and what do you think of that?”

Jocelyn stared at him hard, narrowing her eyes slightly.

It was like a chasm had opened between them, one that had not been there just seconds before. She couldn’t believe that they were having this conversation here in her room, the most ordinary of places. She couldn’t believe that she was standing now, one hand rising to absently toy with the silver locket that hung around her neck. She couldn’t believe that she was crossing the room, clenching her shaking hands into fists, as he watched her, sparkling blue eyes growing wider by the moment.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Their shadows in the afternoon sunlight stretched long across the stone floor, two separate figures hovering on the edge of the uncrossable chasm. Jocelyn thought of the game she’d played as a child, climbing trees and creeping closer and closer to the edge of a branch: _any closer and it’s all over_ , she told herself back then, primarily as a way to scare herself. _Any closer and you fall. Any closer and that’s the end_.

“You can be his _parabatai_ if you want,” she said, then cleared her throat in surprise upon hearing her own voice. She sounded strange, shaky, not herself. “But I’ll never, ever be his wife.” 

Lucian raised a shaking hand to push his hair out of his eyes. His lips parted slowly, as though he wasn’t entirely sure he should speak at all, but then -

The door flew open with a bang. Jocelyn leapt backward as if she’d been burned. 

“Hurry up!” Stephen shouted. “We’re leaving!”

He didn’t pause to elaborate, heavy footsteps crashing down the hallway. By the time Lucian and Jocelyn ran to the door, he was gone. Other doors were opening, their classmates streaming out into the hall, all wearing identical expressions of confusion.

“Leaving for what?” Lucian called down the hallway. 

“The mission, I suppose,” said Hodge Starkweather, emerging from a nearby doorway. He looked reluctant as ever, tripping to tie the laces of his heavy boots. 

“No shit.” Maryse pranced over, ponytail swinging, carefully ignoring Jocelyn. “Starkweather, get to the weapons room. We need everything we can carry.”

“How do you know?” Jocelyn frowned. “Valentine hasn’t even told us where we’re going or what we’re doing.”

“ _I’m_ his second-in-command,” Lucian added.

Maryse looked him over quickly. “Sorry, I must have missed your _parabatai_ rune.”

“We haven’t completed the ritual yet,” he said, exasperated. “There hasn’t been time. That hardly disqualifies me from being his second-in-command. I think Valentine would prefer me to give the orders in his stead.” 

“Starkweather, _go_ ,” Maryse spat, ignoring Lucian. “Honestly, are you a complete idiot?”

“We’ll help, Hodge,” Jocelyn said quickly. She grabbed Lucian around the wrist and they were off.

They raced after Hodge, through the twisted, turning halls of the Academy, until they reached the high-ceilinged weapons room. Jocelyn headed straight for the rows of seraph blades mounted on the wall and tossed one to Lucian. He attached it to his weapons belt with a smooth, assured motion that Jocelyn did not associate with him; she paused for a beat, watching with curiosity, before Michael Wayland shouted her name and she sprung back to life, darting out of his way as he ran past. 

The doors to the weapons room had been flung open and people were streaming in now, everyone clad in black. Jocelyn grabbed another short knife, snapped it into her belt, and caught Lucian’s eye.

“Let’s go find Valentine,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the shouts that rang throughout the room.

Lucian nodded and they took off at a run, dodging excited newcomers as they headed for the door. Their feet pounded down the hallway. Jocelyn was pleased at how he kept up with her; as children racing through their expansive back gardens, she had always outrun him, but he’d clearly been practicing. As they reached the living quarters, she noted how strangely deserted the hall was. Every door was swung wide open, revealing dark and empty bedrooms beyond. Even the students who hadn’t chosen to join the Circle were elsewhere. 

“Do you see-” Jocelyn began, her voice slightly ragged as they ran, but she was cut off before she could finish her sentence.

A tight knot of students had formed at the top of the staircase. All were dressed not in Shadowhunter gear but casual evening clothes, as though they’d been on their way to meet friends for dinner in town. Some still wore loose-fitting practice clothes. They had linked arms tightly to form a sort of human chain. Most threatening of all were the expressions on every single face. They were furious, cold, silent. Jocelyn counted quickly. There were exactly twenty-one of them. The only remaining Academy students who hadn’t joined the Circle. 

“Don’t come any closer,” a small voice shouted from the center of the chain. The voice belonged to a girl Jocelyn had seen in the dining hall occasionally; she looked to be no more than thirteen. Her brilliant blonde hair was tugged back into a half-ponytail.

“What _is_ this?” Lucian asked, frowning at the girl.

“They’re trying to stop us from getting to Valentine,” Jocelyn said in exasperation. 

“I know.” He scanned the group. “But why? You guys, it’s not worth standing against Valentine… you don’t want to anger him.”

“We don’t care,” a boy chimed in - Alastair, Jocelyn thought his name was. “It’s better than standing with you.”

The group nodded in assent.

“Come on, just let us through. Valentine wouldn’t lead us into danger - it’s just a mission. A project.”

“We’re not worried about _you_ ,” the blonde girl snapped. “You’re beyond hope. Our concern lies with the fate of whomever Valentine Morgenstern is commanding you to murder.”

Jocelyn stared at this girl, only a few years younger than herself. She could hear the distant clatter of boots on stone, the shout of voices. It wouldn’t be long before the entire Circle burst into the hall and snapped this line of would-be righteous Shadowhunters like a giant twig. 

“And how do you plan to stop us?” she said coldly. 

The Shadowhunters drew closer together. None looked away from Jocelyn or Lucian, even when they pulled seraph blades from their belts in perfectly identical, sweeping motions.

“You don’t have to stand with us,” Jocelyn continued. “But if you don’t stand aside…”

She could hear Valentine’s voice in her head, confident, finishing the threat. But that was Valentine’s area of expertise. She couldn’t threaten, strike fear into the hearts of children. She still had so much further to go, so much more to learn.

The girl raised her chin defiantly. “Not so brave without your chivalrous boyfriend?”

Jocelyn’s jaw dropped, but before she could respond, the girl was knocked aside by some unseen force. The surprise impact sent several of the other students tumbling to the ground beside her. A figure rose up behind them all, staring down at the blonde girl with a warm smile. 

“That’s enough of that, Cordelia,” said Valentine.

Cordelia spat her ponytail out of her mouth as she glared up at him. Her response was drowned out by a sudden explosion of shouting; the other Circle members had finally reached the hallway. Jocelyn and Lucian exchanged a wordless glance before seizing their opportunity, surging forward and shoving their way through the broken chain of young Shadowhunters. In the confusion, Jocelyn felt her elbow knock into a younger boy, sending him tumbling down the stone staircase; she tore her eyes away, not wanting to know who it was as she hurtled toward the ground.

They kept running through the entranceway, past the witchlight torches illuminating the hall in cold silver, out the white wooden Academy doors into the cool spring evening air. Jocelyn bent over with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

In the sudden stillness, she found that she couldn’t look at Lucian. Was he looking at her? Was she supposed to say something? Heat crept steadily across her cheeks – what had _happened_ back there, anyway? She had never felt energy pass between them like that. It was almost as if…

“We’re going to the Gard.” Valentine’s voice rang out through the night as he hurried toward them, the rest of the Circle at his heels. “Hurry, Lucian, Jocelyn.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Jocelyn saw Lucian snap to attention, falling into step at Valentine’s right side. Jocelyn jogged along until she caught up on Valentine’s other side and slowed to a brisk walk. 

“Will they follow us?” Lucian asked.

Valentine chuckled. “They won’t have the audacity. And they won’t warn the Clave - they know that our Nephilim elders have no interest in punishing us. None of them know the plan or any way to follow us.”

“They’re just jealous,” Jocelyn added. “They know they’re not part of something special like we are.”

“Sometimes I barely feel like a part of this group,” Stephen grumbled good-naturedly behind her. “Are you going to tell us where we’re going, Valentine?”

“We’re going to the Portal at the Gard,” he answered. “There are warlocks just outside Marseille that have been capturing mundanes. It is unfortunate, but the perfect opportunity for our initial mission. We can show all of Nephilim society what we are capable of.” 

“But if it’s a problem in Marseille, why don’t we let their Institute handle it?” Jocelyn asked.

“An excellent question,” he said, inclining his head in her direction. “The Marseille Institute is small. They are hardly equipped to deal with a situation like this. Their Institute head himself is currently in London. Apparently, they have called for reinforcements, but the Clave is being too slow. They need assistance now.”

“So _we’re_ assisting them?” Celine spoke up, her voice trembling.

“It’s our responsibility,” said Lucian firmly, and no one spoke again as they moved down Princewater Street, stepping through pools of witchlight.

 

* * *

By the time the group reached the wrought iron gate of the Gard, night had fallen completely. Marks swirled across the iron like calligraphy: runes of protection, of defense. Jocelyn felt a slight chill run through her, turning to look at the rest of the group. She hadn’t noticed at first, but there really were a lot of people here - more than ever before. Everyone was wearing gear, blending into the dark, which made it hard to get a good estimate of their numbers. She recognized many familiar faces like Maryse, Robert, Patrick, Hodge, and Michael, and then a cluster of girls who had been steadfastly ignoring her, like Bianca and Kiva.

But then there were others… Valentine’s new Alicante recruits, she realized. The Pangborns were standing near some unfamiliar young male Shadowhunters - one of them was extremely young, but he was Marked, so he had to be at least twelve. She remembered Amatis mentioning that Valentine had talked some young boy into attending meetings.

It was heartening to see so many new Circle members among their ranks, but at the same time it made her a little uncomfortable. Did they _need_ to have so many new members? She had kind of preferred it back in the beginning, slinking around the outskirts of the woods with only the people she knew from the Academy. But on the other hand, she noted glumly, many of the people she knew from the Academy wanted nothing to do with her because they thought she was dating Valentine.

When had dating become such a big part of her consciousness? It was irritating, she thought, shoving her hands into her pockets. It all seemed to have happened without her doing very much. 

_But you’re the one who almost kissed Lucian_ , a little voice in the back of her mind spoke up. Her stomach churned uncomfortably and she filed that thought away to deal with later.

“How will we get inside?” Maryse spoke up.

“Simple.”

Valentine drew a stele from his pocket and slashed it across the iron as though it were a knife. He moved so quickly that Jocelyn couldn’t tell what kind of rune he had drawn, but whatever it was flashed brightly and then faded. There was a faint clicking sound and the gate swung open gently so the group could rush through.

As they hurried down the dirt path to enter the dark stone building, Jocelyn fought back the urge to ask the question that had been plaguing her ever since Valentine had described the plan. The Portal was guarded intensely; it had to be, given that it was reverse-warded and therefore outside of Alicante’s protection. She could see no way that they could possibly make it there. 

But there was no doubt that Valentine had planned well. He led them through one winding stone corridor after another, some lit with witchlight, others pitch black. Their footsteps were barely audible, Jocelyn noted with a faint twinge of pride; she had spent many days with Robert training to move as quietly as possible to avoid detection. Apparently the others had been practicing as well.

Valentine took a sharp right turn and came to a stop smoothly. The rest of the Circle skidded to a halt more clumsily behind him. This corridor ended with an enormous iron gate, and, just a few feet past that, an enormous glimmering mirror. Several members of the group held up their witchlight stones; the light bounced off the smooth surface which showed no reflection.

“The Portal,” Lucian breathed.

Without speaking, Valentine strode forward and moved his stele briskly across the iron. It seemed to be the same rune he’d used to gain entrance to the Gard; a flash illuminated his face, his expression of steely determination, before fading away as quickly as it had come. This time, the iron literally seemed to disintegrate. It crumbled away partially to form a wide gap. Valentine nodded, satisfied, and then climbed through. The rest of the group followed.

It felt like being inside a small cave; the ceiling was rounded and not far above their heads. As everyone assembled in a loose circle around Valentine, there was no sound aside from their shuffling footsteps.

“So!” Valentine said, slipping his stele into one loop on his weapons belt. His voice echoed unnaturally in the small chamber. “The Marseille Institute has filed a report with the Clave stating that two warlocks are seeking shelter in the old fortress of Chateau d’If. They were spotted in possession of three mundane children ranging in age from five to eleven. Evidence also suggests that they have been recklessly summoning demons.”

“What will do against them?” Stephen asked, standing up straighter.

“Remember, all, that our heavenly duty is to carry out the Angel’s work,” said Valentine. “It is not within our Circle’s realm of experience to liaise with demonspawn, but when one of these creatures steps outside the lines, the responsibility to eliminate them falls to us.

“We will remove them from the island - whether by injuring, banishing, or killing them matters not to me. It is imperative that you all understand the dangers of this mission. I implore you to consider this a test of your loyalty, strength, and wherewithal. The warlock creatures will fight back. Some of us may be wounded… some may be killed. We have been raised with this knowledge, of course, and now as we journey away from our protected schoolrooms and out into a tempestuous world, we must not fall victim to fear. If any of you before me are experiencing any misgivings or doubts whatsoever about what I have tasked you with, you may leave.” 

A ringing silence fell upon the room. Jocelyn cast a wary glance around; the faces of her friends were alabaster pale in the silver light. Some, like Robert and the Pangborns, wore confident expressions. Others, like Celine, looked positively terrified. All of them were staring at Valentine.

No one turned to leave.

Valentine gave a short, satisfied nod and turned back to the Portal, touching its surface lightly with his stele. The image shifted; Jocelyn caught a glimpse of dark water, of a starry sky.

As Valentine gestured to Lucian to step forward - the leader would go through last, to prevent any runaways - she had a fleeting vision of their classmates back at the Academy, forming a chain to keep them away. All of them… Maddy, Alastair, that little blonde girl… they must have known it was a futile effort, but they stood up to the Circle regardless. 

“Jocelyn,” Valentine said softly, reaching out an arm. She walked up to him, shaking her head to clear it, long hair tumbling around her shoulders. Then, fixing her gaze upon the endless black starry sky, she hurled herself forward through the Portal.


	17. Moonlight

**Chapter Seventeen**

 

When Jocelyn was four years old and still too young to know better, she had been afraid of too many things. That was how her mother put it: “far too many things, Jocelyn,” she had said once, running a careless hand through her daughter’s hair as she clung to her knees.

“There’s nothing in the dark, mama?” Jocelyn had whimpered, craning her neck to stare up at her mother. This was during the month-long phase where Jocelyn had raced down the staircase to find her mother every night, terrified of the creaking tree branches outside her window. Everything seemed worse in the dim silvery glow of _adamas_ that only barely illuminated corners of her room. Downstairs, with the crackling fireplace and golden sparkling chandelier, was Jocelyn’s safe haven. 

“Nothing in the dark?” Adele repeated. “You know that’s not true. What are you, Jocelyn?”

She paused, shivering slightly; it was January and snow fell outside the window. She wore only a soft cotton nightgown, her tiny feet bare.

“Nephilim,” she answered obediently.

“And what do Nephilim fight?”

“Demons.”

“By whom were Nephilim created?”

“The Angel Raziel.”

“So why would a Nephilim child ever feel afraid?” Adele asked. “A child of heaven, the Angel’s child, given the powers and courage and ability required to banish demons? You are not a mundane human child, darling. You have a cause and a mission you were born into. You have nothing to fear.”

Jocelyn frowned, trying to make sense of these words. Her father was the one who really excelled at explaining things to her. Adele treated her young daughter as though she were an emissary from a country she didn’t care to visit. 

“But I don’t like the dark,” Jocelyn whined.

With a sigh, her mother crouched down to look her directly in the eyes, one hand coming to rest loosely on Jocelyn’s shoulder.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret, darling,” Adele whispered. “You can feel afraid if you must, every once in awhile. But you must never let them see you flinch. Never let them see you cry. Never let them see you scared.”

Although she was young when she first heard them, Jocelyn had trouble forgetting her mother’s words. She repeated them over and over inside her head as she resolutely faced fear after fear, shoving them back: the dark corners of her bedroom, the spiders that spun sinewy webs in the cellar, the tall tree in the side yard that she so desperately wanted to climb. _Never let them see you flinch_ , she told herself at thirteen as Robert Lightwood’s thrown knives sailed past her head; she choked back the fear and told him steadily, “I can throw them better. Stand by the target.” _Never let them see you cry_ , she mumbled to herself, alone in her room at the Academy after a particularly stressful lesson in which she’d slipped off the balancing wire and twisted her ankle. 

_Never let them see you scared_ , she chanted inside her head now, even as her hands shook. She matched each word to a step she took as the group marched quietly down a dirt pathway, dodging bright pools of moonlight.

It was strange, she thought, as the back of her hand brushed Lucian’s involuntarily. Her mother could be insightful - brutal, but insightful - about many things, but she’d never mentioned that every now and then, it could be a relief to let one person know that you were afraid. Even for Nephilim.

Lucian jerked his head sharply in her direction. She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact, but she knew he understood. He would not leave her.

 

* * *

 

They had Portaled directly to an island, one that Jocelyn had never seen before. The coast of Marseille glimmered before them, separated by calm, dark water; it was a clear night, the air pleasantly cool and tasting of salt. She wished they could’ve come here by way of the town. It would be warmer on the mainland.

The structure rising around them was an abandoned fortress; it had been used as a prison once, Jocelyn thought, many years ago. Now, apparently, it functioned as a sort of Downworlder safehouse. Its various turrets and battlements were made of a sand-colored stone. The air was still and silent save for the faint squelch of footsteps through the muddy ground; it must have rained recently.

As they walked, they naturally adopted a loose formation – this had been created and practiced over the past few weeks. Valentine in front, taking wide, confident strides; Lucian close behind to his right, Jocelyn on the left; directly behind them, an intimidating shoulder-to-shoulder line consisting of Stephen, Robert, Maryse, Michael, and Patrick. Behind this grouping, the members filtered down, leaving the weakest in the very back. Jocelyn hadn’t counted their numbers recently, but it looked like a group of around thirty. Two warlocks would be no match for them, no matter how powerful they claimed to be. 

“Prepare your weapons,” Valentine said quietly as they walked.

Lucian, Jocelyn, and the row behind them immediately reached for their weapons belts. Jocelyn’s seraph blade felt cold to the touch; she shoved back her fear impatiently. Behind her, she heard whispers like leaves rustling as the others passed on Valentine’s message.

Up the steep hill they climbed, Jocelyn’s eyes starting to water from the chilly air. Squinting, she could see something in the distance through one small, crudely-cut window of the stone structure: blue flames flickering. Warlock-made fire. 

“There,” she breathed, reaching forward to tug on Valentine’s jacket sleeve. He turned in the direction she was pointing and immediately came to a halt, holding up a hand. The sudden stop was so abrupt that Michael stumbled directly into Lucian. She might have laughed if the entire situation wasn’t so grim.

Valentine made a quick hand gesture and the group sprung into action, spiraling around him in closer-knit version of their usual bonfire circle. When he spoke, his voice was low but authoritative. 

“Remember, all of you, that you have nothing to fear. You are the strongest, the bravest, the best of Alicante. These warlocks – these demonspawn - they are not like us. It does not matter how human they appear… they are creatures. In the past, the Clave has permitted them to walk our sacred land, to enter our homes, even to infiltrate our family trees.” At this, his eyes flashed to Stephen, for some reason, who flushed and looked down at his boots. “No more. Tonight, we deliver our message: they are no longer welcome. Listen closely, remember. Listen for my sign.” 

He waved a hand and the Nephilim scattered, breaking off into formations they had been practicing for weeks. Jocelyn spun elegantly on her heel and ran quietly around the other side of the turret. Behind her, twin footsteps pounded the dirt: Bianca and Kiva, her backups. As _parabatai_ , they were stronger together. 

Jocelyn grabbed a witchlight stone from her pocket, holding it high above her head to illuminate a wooden door cut into the fortress just in front of them. Glancing over her shoulder, she beckoned Bianca and Kiva closer. Both girls wore nearly identical expressions of determination, seraph blades dull and dark and clutched in their hands. The three of them huddled by the door, waiting… it would not be long now…

A crash came from inside like a cascade of falling rocks. A high hysterical scream pierced the silence. 

“Downworlders!” Valentine’s voice boomed from inside the fortress. “The Nephilim of Idris have found you guilty of abducting and experimenting upon mundane children. If you consent to come peacefully, we will turn you over to the mercy of the Clave-” 

“We haven’t abducted any children!” A male voice exclaimed. “Our daughter and son… we adopted them, my wife and I!”

“Legally, I’ll have you know,” a woman cut in, her voice low and scathing. “We petitioned the Clave to be permitted to adopt two orphans - a merciless and demeaning process, might I add, no thanks at all to your elitist lawmakers. Treated us like the scum of the streets.” 

“Imagine that,” Valentine said coolly.

“We have lived by your rules, Nephilim,” the man protested. “For all the many years we have lived, we have adhered to the standards set by your Clave and Council. We wished only to become parents. We hoped to be able to give these children a better life - we thought perhaps we could raise our children away from persecution-”

“I will have no more of your lies, demon creatures. Mundane children are not yours to claim. If you will not submit to us, if you will not kneel at the feet of your superiors, _we will make you.”_

“And who is ‘we’? You seem quite alone,” said the woman. 

Valentine laughed, and the sound seemed to bounce off the sand and stone, confident and controlled. “Excuse me, where are my manners? Allow me to introduce you to my friends, my compatriots… the Circle.”

The signal. Without missing a beat, Jocelyn kicked in the wooden door. It splintered beneath her steel-toed boot, falling to the dirt floor in pieces. Bianca and Kiva pushed past her, blades held high - the air was suddenly full of shouted angel names, silvery-blue flashes slicing the dark as Shadowhunters poured into the room, scrambling through square windows. In the sudden chaos, Jocelyn caught only a brief glimpse of the warlock couple backed up against the opposite wall. The man was tall with cascading blond curls streaked with shimmering blue, and the woman’s face fell in shadow. She was turning away to push two small figures behind her. 

Valentine wouldn’t hurt the children, right? Jocelyn’s stomach churned uncomfortably even as she ran, brandishing her seraph blade high. She spun in a tight circle, looking for Lucian, but it was impossible to differentiate between the shapes in the dark.

A crackling sound jolted her back to attention. The male warlock had drawn himself up to full height, face blazing in fury - with one hand, he held back Stephen’s thrashing body. His other hand was reaching up, fingers cradling a small blue object that resembled a ball of fireworks. Jocelyn froze for a split second, enthralled, and then reared back in horror - he threw the ball with all his might and it whirled through the air toward Valentine, who leapt out of the way.

It was the wrong move, going for the leader. Michael and Robert gave identical yells of outrage and flung themselves forward, swords whirling - there was no escape - the warlock man was flung against the wall with a sickening crunch, blood pooling at his feet. Jocelyn darted sideways, shoving a shell-shocked Celine out of the line of fire. The female warlock struggled to get by, a child under each arm - Jocelyn stuck out her leg, meaning to trip the warlock but catching the young girl instead. She tumbled to the ground with a wail, dark hair fanning out across her back. 

“Shit - I didn’t-” Jocelyn sprang forward to grab the girl’s arm but she jerked away, looking straight up into Jocelyn’s eyes. She had expected to see fear - she saw only hurt and confusion. The girl scrambled after the warlock, heading for the door. 

“Jocelyn!” Celine shrieked, high and sharp. There was nothing to be done - she froze in place - time stopped as another ball of blue sparks sailed at lightning speed past them, past Valentine, straight into Bianca’s chest. Her deep brown eyes went wide - the warlock man slid to the ground, energy depleted, and was entirely forgotten as Bianca’s seraph blade clattered to the ground. 

It was all wrong - her legs buckled and she fell in a strange angle, not how they’d been taught. She crumbled into a heap, one arm bent backwards, and did not move again.

And Kiva, sweet little Kiva who was always smiling with a bright determination, who wanted nothing more than to please Valentine and do right by the Circle, let out a scream of agony that could have shattered glass. Jocelyn whirled around, ponytail whipping across her face.

Kiva had collapsed on the ground, her mouth open wide in a howl, misery twisting her features into something almost inhuman. She tried to get to her feet but slipped in the mud; she fell to her knees and half-ran, half-crawled toward Bianca’s sprawled body. One hand gripped a spot right above her own heart, and when she pulled it away to reach for her _parabatai_ , Jocelyn saw that it was covered in blood.

“Kiva!” Valentine shouted; even in this scene of mass panic, of horror, of death, he was calm. He seemed to glide over to her as the battle raged on. “Kiva, get up.” 

She spun, lashing out like an angry cat, fingernails catching and raking across his face so hard that little bubbles of red appeared almost instantly across his porcelain skin. He recoiled. 

“You did this!” Kiva screamed, blonde hair hanging ragged in her face, stringy with mud and dirt and sweat. “ _You_ \- you swore this would never happen - you did this to all of us!” 

Jocelyn called out to her, stepping forward, but she was too late. Without a backward glance, the girl had pulled herself upright, spat at Valentine’s feet, and ran - as she went, kicking up mud, she flung a dagger behind her which sailed with precision straight toward Jocelyn. She couldn’t make herself move; Lucian appeared out of nowhere and shoved her down to the ground so hard she bit her tongue, mouth filling with a coppery taste. 

“Desertion of comrades is the highest offense, Kiva!” Valentine bellowed. No one seemed to hear. Kiva was gone, disappeared into the dark. Around them, the storm raged on. 

There was a bottleneck at the door as everyone fought to get out, to find the other warlock, to exact their revenge. Jocelyn was barely aware of her own movements - someone - Lucian - was forcing her through a window, and it was too high, she wasn’t prepared. She hit the muddy ground hard, one ankle twisting beneath her. _Go, go, go_ , she screamed inside her head - or maybe it was Lucian? Everything seemed murky and slow.

She took off, realizing dimly that her ankle should probably hurt more. It felt like nothing, like running on air. She raced higher and higher, fumbling with her weapons belt as she went. Her seraph blade was gone. Dropped somewhere back in the fortress, probably. Her fingers closed upon a small dagger with a golden hilt at the very same second she spotted the warlock woman - she was framed by the cold light of the moon, regal and terrible, back to the wind.

Jocelyn sprinted toward her, blood pounding in her ears - all she could see were Bianca’s brown eyes, innocent and surprised as though she’d truly believed herself invincible - Bianca, standing in the hallway at the Academy with a hand on her hip, talking to Jocelyn about friends and love and crushes. It felt like years ago, millennia. She was going to kill this woman - this _creature_ \- and it did not matter that she had not been the one to kill Bianca. Nothing mattered much at all.

When Jocelyn came to a halt, panting hard, she had to shake her head to clear it - she _knew_ this woman. She was not as old as she looked from a distance. Her hair was long and braided, her eyes long-lashed with irises the color of snow.

“You didn’t realize?” the warlock asked, and she smiled. 

“I didn’t… see your face before.” Jocelyn gasped for breath, raising her knife just slightly. “I met you… in Alicante. Earlier this year. Why were you in Alicante?” 

“I work there sometimes to make money for my family. For my children. I read cards, perform spells…” 

“Where are they? The children? If you’d just hand them over-” 

“I’ve hidden them,” the warlock said. “You will not find them, Nephilim girl.”

“Don’t call me that. You know my name.” Jocelyn lunged forward in one smooth movement, shoving the warlock up against the parapet with her forearm. The cool metal of her knife pressed close to the warlock’s throat. “Your kind… they _kill_ Nephilim. The other one… he killed my friend. The least you can do is use my name.”

“What did I tell you, all those months ago?” the warlock said quietly.

Jocelyn’s hand trembled. She tightened her grasp on the knife, her knuckles whitening.

“Y-you told me…” She took a steadying breath. “You told me to choose.”

“Choose between what?” 

“Chose to… fight… or love.” 

“And have you?”

“Why do you care?” Jocelyn spat. Her fingers were numb now, her entire body shaking uncontrollably.

The woman watched her expectantly. Her silver irises were unnerving in the moonlight; Jocelyn tore her eyes away.

“You didn’t give me much of a choice. You… you said…” Jocelyn fought to remember the words she’d shoved to the back of her brain for so long. “ _Choose to fight, and you will never love… but choose to love, and you will never stop fighting._ Those are terrible options.” 

“Are they?” She raised an eyebrow.

“I have to fight. It’s like I told you. I’m Nephilim… I was born Nephilim. I will always be – stop shaking your head!” Jocelyn shouted. “You asked me if I believe in destiny. I do, okay? I do! It’s this! I was meant to do this – to be this!”

“And yet you have me at your mercy and you have not killed me.”

“I don’t… I don’t…” Jocelyn’s voice was shaking now, her vision going fuzzy. She knew from years of training that she was going into shock. She had to get back to the Portal before she lost consciousness completely.

“Choose love,” the warlock said, almost gently. “Let yourself love, Jocelyn Fairchild, and see where you will end. But it will do you good to remember: you can fight your true nature, but you will lose. You will lose every time.” 

These were the last words Jocelyn heard. The knife slipped from her grasp, clattering to the stone ground. The world went dark - she was falling, falling into a pair of warm arms that lifted her like she weighed nothing -

 

* * *

 

Jocelyn woke so suddenly that it was as if someone had shouted her name. It took her a few minutes to realize where she was. Her bedroom at the Academy was silent, close to empty, and pitch black save for the square of moonlight falling across the floor. The same moonlight that had pooled on the stone floors of the fortress.

She lifted herself out of bed gently. She had no memory of walking back from the Gard… in fact, she was shocked that she could walk at all. Hadn’t she hurt her ankle? She glanced down, tilting her leg so it caught the moonlight. An _iratze_ had been dashed across the skin, sloppy, but it had clearly been sufficient. She smiled, bending down to trace the Mark. Lucian had never had good penmanship.

Every bone in her body ached - she felt like she’d jumped off a roof. And her clothes were absolutely filthy. She caught sight of her reflection in Maryse’s vanity and cringed. Her face was scratched and bloody, hair caked with sweat and dirt. Her only thought was getting clean. From her dresser, she grabbed her favorite fluffy towel and a change of clothes and headed for the bathrooms.

She probably could have stayed in the shower all night, but the Academy cut off hot water after five minutes - some test of Shadowhunter endurance, she guessed. At least her body was clean and most of the grime was out of her hair. She yanked on her cotton nightgown and headed back out into the hall, leaving her disgusting clothes in a heap on the floor.

The Academy was strangely quiet. Jocelyn noticed this now that she wasn’t distracted by the caked blood and dirt on her face. They had all come back together - hadn’t they? She froze, biting her lip. She couldn’t remember a thing after her vision had faded out. Someone had caught her… carried her… after that, it was gone.

Lucian had never carried her like that. It must have been Valentine.

Jocelyn took off for the main staircase, dropping her towel in the hall as she ran. He couldn’t be in his room - _no one_ was in their rooms, it was silent as the grave - so he had to be somewhere downstairs. She flew through the entrance hall and dining hall. Both empty. 

Heart thudding painfully, she turned to search the classrooms when she heard someone call her name. She whirled around. A shadowy figure stood just outside the archway, partially shaded by a low-hanging tree.

“Valentine,” she gasped, and sprinted to him. She didn’t care that she was barefoot, that she only wore a sheer nightgown, that she was so tired that dark circles spread like watercolors beneath her eyes. She fell into his familiar arms and he caught and held her tightly.

“It’s all right, Jocelyn,” he said softly. “The others are safe.”

“Where are they?”

“They are safe,” he repeated.

“Lucian?”

He pulled back a few inches, looking down at her. In the low light, his eyes were impossibly dark; he seemed to be thinking, but as to what, Jocelyn had no idea. “Safe as well.”

Jocelyn stepped back, smoothing her hair away from her face.

“I’m an idiot,” she muttered. “Fainting like that. My mother would disown me if she knew.” 

“You had just watched a friend die before your eyes. You were in shock. It’s entirely normal.”

He reached out to touch her face. Ordinarily, she would’ve jerked away, uncomfortable with physical contact, but she found she had no energy left. His palm was like fire against the coldness of her cheek. She watched him for a moment, eyes wide, blinking slowly.

“Did you mean for all that to happen?”

“You had to be tested,” he said simply. “All of you. I had to see your loyalties. How far each of you would go. Which of you would turn away when the pressure grew to be too much.”

“I wish Bianca…” She swallowed hard over the sob that was threatening to break from her throat. “I wish she hadn’t…” 

“As do I. But Jocelyn, you must understand: there are small sacrifices to be made in every war, every battle. We are Nephilim.”

“And… and Kiva…?”

“Some of our Circle remained to search for her.”

“The mundane children?”

“Escaped,” Valentine said smoothly, and Jocelyn was too exhausted to do anything but believe him.

“It is not easy, this life we lead,” he continued. “But it is your birthright.” He lowered his hand from her face, stepping back slightly.

“I know.” She looked down at the grass beneath her bare feet, concentrating on breathing slowly, deeply. “I’m so glad that we have the Circle. It makes me feel like all of this, everything we’re doing… it’s all for a purpose.” 

“Exactly.” Valentine smiled at her almost indulgently, tilting his head to the side. “It pleases me to hear you say that, Jocelyn. I hoped you would fit in well with our Circle. I do know that you’ve struggled to get along with the other young women.”

“I haven’t struggled!” Jocelyn protested. “It’s them who have a problem with me.” 

_Had_ , she thought unwittingly, _they_ had _a problem with me_ \- Kiva’s blue eyes and pale face flashed into her mind. She shook her head hard and fast.

“They think I love you,” Valentine said smoothly. “And so they are jealous.”

She blinked. “I… uh, yes. I mean, I think so.” 

“It is amusing, don’t you think? When you arrived this fall, everyone assumed you loved Lucian.” 

“Who said _that_?”

“Everyone,” he repeated unhelpfully. He chuckled at the expression on her face. “Don’t worry, Jocelyn. I corrected assumptions when I heard them. I could never speak for you, of course - I wouldn’t dream of it. But I know that Lucian does not love you.”

“He doesn’t.” She was so tired - did she mean that to be a statement or a question?

Valentine laughed again. “I know, darling. He told me.”

Jocelyn’s eyes welled with tears. It had been such a long day… it seemed like years since they’d sat in the dining hall eating bagels, since she’d talked to Bianca in the hallway - with a terrible stinging pain, she pushed that memory back. Since she’d had that conversation with Lucian in her room. She heard the clashing of knives, smelled the air heavy with magic, saw the sprawled bodies, the blood - but then here was Valentine, standing close to her, smiling down at her, calling her darling. 

“I think we’re on the brink of something, you and me,” he said abruptly, as though continuing a thought out loud.

“What?”

“We’ve done wonderfully with the Circle so far, and you are an integral part of that, Jocelyn,” he said solemnly. “I could not do this without you. This world is ours to make brand new.” 

She bit her lip, hard, heart reaching an impossible cadence as though it were trying to crack its way through her ribcage. And then she flung herself forward, back into his arms, her hands grabbing the fabric of his cotton shirt, her lips colliding with his, soft and warm and comfortable.

She thought maybe he said her name - but that was impossible, his lips didn’t leave hers - maybe it had echoed from his subconscious to hers, she thought as his hands wound through her hair, as he held her closer - her lungs were on fire and she couldn’t breathe or think.

She pulled back with effort, gasping like she’d run a million miles. He was staring at her as though he didn’t know her at all. His eyelashes were impossibly long. His mouth hung open slightly like he was searching for words but coming up empty-handed. The right words probably existed somewhere, floating through space, but she had nothing. 

Slowly, she let go of his shirt, backing away slowly. She licked her lips - his eyes followed her almost tenderly, noting every detail of her face. 

“I knew it,” he whispered. “I’ve always loved you, Jocelyn.”


	18. Revelation

**Part III**

 

_God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade;_

_Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:_

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

_I should have loved a thunderbird instead;_

_At least when spring comes they roar back again._

_I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead._

_(I think I made you up inside my head.)_

_-_ Sylvia Plath, _Mad Girl’s Love Song_

 

* * *

 

**Chapter Eighteen**

Three years later

 

Blue delphinium grew richly outside Fairchild Manor, but they had not always. They were a new hobby of Jocelyn’s. She sprinkled just the right amount of water over the silk-like blossoms, kneading the soil until her fingernails were dark with dirt. It gave her comfort to bathe in the afternoon and watch her skin return to porcelain pale, cleansed, renewed.

As a child, she had spent many summer days on the front steps with Lucian and Amatis, licking the fruit juice from homemade popsicles off her sticky fingers and laughing. There had been rosebushes back then. Red roses. The same roses that wound tightly up the trellis in the side yard. The same color as Jocelyn’s hair, long and wild. The same thorns that had pricked her fingers on her wedding day.

Her mother had insisted that Jocelyn pick a rose bouquet from the yard. It was a small concession: Adele liked Valentine but had not wanted to see her daughter married so young. The deep red of the flowers had stood out against the sparkling golden and white walls, the glimmering mermaid fountain of Accords Hall. Sunshine broke through the crystal ceiling and spun shapes like diamonds across the stone floor. Valentine, standing in front of her, had smiled so brightly she felt like her eyes were burning.

She had smiled too. Clutched the roses tight, even as one thorn scratched her finger, slicing a nearly invisible red line across the skin.

 

* * *

 

In the early days, it was all about winning. 

A small victory when Valentine was granted an audience with the Clave to voice a complaint. A thrill when he, Stephen, and Lucian managed to track down the werewolf pack that had killed Valentine’s father; they hid this information away, saving it for the perfect moment. Celebrations became more elegant. They were like parties. Everyone dressed up. 

Valentine took Jocelyn shopping in the best stores, holding her bags while she tried on ridiculously expensive garments. It was like a game, and they were young, unfettered. He made a great show of purchasing everything she showed even a fleeting interest in. When she showed up at a Circle meeting in a floating dress the color of fire and flecked with gold, the eyes of every man in the room lingered on her body and Valentine held her arm tightly, smirking as if to say, _I know. I win._

He rode his horse to Fairchild Manor shortly before Christmas to ask Granville for his daughter’s hand in marriage. It was supposed to be a big secret, but Jocelyn knew immediately, clinging to the railing upstairs and listening to every word. She had been desperate for this to happen. The season of weddings was upon them, what with Robert and Maryse’s ceremony earlier that summer and Amatis and Stephen’s soon after. The conversation with Granville seemed to go on for hours; they were so _young_ , her father protested, and Jocelyn is so _stubborn_ , do you really both know what you want? But he was not stern. He laughed often, patted Valentine on the back, and sent him off with a jovial “welcome to the family, son!” 

Valentine proposed at the Lightwoods’ New Year’s Eve party. It had been snowing outside, fat flakes floating from the gray sky. Everyone had toasted to their happiness, clinking together flutes of champagne that glittered gold in the firelight.

Back at the Academy, it was a different story.

She no longer spoke to any students who were not in the Circle. Even with the other Circle girls she only enjoyed moderate popularity; Bianca’s death and Kiva’s desertion had absolved them of jealousy to a degree, but Amatis remained the only other female student who truly cared for her. For this reason, it was an immense surprise when she was cornered by Maddy the day they returned to Alicante.

Maddy was no longer the skinny, innocent-looking girl Jocelyn had met at their Marking ceremony all those years ago. She was tall and strong as though she were made of steel. The endearing nickname didn’t even seem to fit her anymore - she was Madeleine through and through. 

“You know this is wrong.”

“Excuse me?” Jocelyn had scoffed. “Are you speaking to me?”

“He’s selfish, Jocelyn. He’s hateful. He’ll use you - destroy you-”

She looked away from Madeleine and continued walking to class, adjusting the strap of her bookbag. If she kept heading down the hall, eventually she would run into the other Circle members and then Madeleine would _have_ to stop - she’d be too afraid.

But she didn’t let up. She followed Jocelyn around for the next three days: to the dining hall, to the weapons room, even down Princewater Street as she headed to Seraph Bakes to meet Lucian. She walked so closely behind Jocelyn that she occasionally tripped over her heels, keeping up a steady stream of hissed admonitions.

“You shouldn’t marry him, Jocelyn. Deep down, you must know that. We used to talk about it all the time, remember? You used to agree with me… he’s horrible. He will ruin your life. I know all of you think he’s so charming, but it’s an act - a mask - it’s a terrible amorality that he’s hiding, and it’ll come out one day, mark my words, it will ruin you-” 

On the third day, Jocelyn punched her in the face in the hallway outside the library. They never spoke again.

 

* * *

 

The red roses had been Adele’s favorite part of Fairchild Manor.

“How are the flowers?” she would ask Jocelyn almost forlornly when she visited her parents in Alicante. Granville had been delighted to turn over the manor to his daughter, but Adele had been a harder sell. Neither was entirely pleased to see their eighteen-year-old daughter become someone’s wife, even if that someone was from a revered family. The least Jocelyn could do was take care of the damn flowers.

“I water them every day,” Jocelyn reassured her mother. Lied to her mother. She didn’t care about roses.

Her days were a blur of dangerous Circle missions and glamorous meetings. Every weekend, they Portaled somewhere new. Now that they were freed from the confines of traditional schooling, they could do anything, go anywhere. They hiked through Auckland and slept under the stars, drank and danced all night at the pubs in Dublin, shopped on London’s Oxford Street. Back in Idris, they ruled the manor houses, hosting extravagant parties and dreaming about the day when Shadowhunters would walk freely, openly, into the light. 

Nephilim were beginning to talk, sometimes directly to the Circle when they were back in Alicante. _Spoiled brats_ , voices hissed as they passed. No one dared raise their voices. The Clave, Valentine soon learned, had decided to ignore them.

“For Clave and Covenant,” he spat mockingly at one meeting. Laughed. “Because we are the most talented and promising Nephilim youth, they won’t do a thing.”

They had cheered, all of them. One combined shout of triumph.

The fear began to creep in not long after. Subtle changes. Scratches and cuts on his arms that he could not - would not - explain. Echoes throughout the manor. Strange noises. _Never let them see you cry_ , Jocelyn told herself, crouching in the dirt by the front steps. _Never let them see you scared_. She plucked a handful of roses from the earth. _I’m not scared_. Placed them in a skinny glass vase in what was to be the baby’s room. 

“They’re beautiful,” Lucian said that evening. He would Portal to New York City with Valentine and the rest of the Circle shortly. At Jocelyn’s request, he had stopped in to see her before he left. 

“They’re just flowers,” Jocelyn mumbled. “I wish you wouldn’t go.”

“I have to go, Joss. It’s a mission. We’re finally taking down the werewolf pack that killed Valentine’s father. He needs us there.”

“I would feel better if I could go with you…” 

Lucian laughed, an unexpectedly harsh sound. “It’s not safe! You’re about to have a baby! Trust me, I’ll be fine. And you’ll be better off here.”

Jocelyn never learned exactly what happened in New York. She learned shortly that Rachel Whitelaw, Amatis’s Academy roommate, had been killed by Robert Lightwood. Robert, her tutor, who had laughed when she had fallen out of a tree that first day, who had taught her to throw knives, who had been the recipient of her teasing for four years. Robert, murdering a Shadowhunter girl. She repeated the names of her friends to herself sometimes, trying to reconcile their laughing faces with their violent acts. She needed to know more, to understand what had happened that night, but before she could investigate further, everything shattered.

In the chilly November sunshine, Jocelyn scrubbed her best friend’s blood from the white stone steps. It was so cold she could see her breath as she whispered prayers into the silent morning. _Please let him live. Please let him live. Please don’t take him from me_. Methodically, she ripped every red rose from the ground until only rows of dirt remained. With each rose, she muttered a prayer that would be unanswered, unheard.

 

* * *

 

Two months stretched by before Jocelyn could leave her room. Valentine continued his travels with the Circle, seeming to turn a blind eye to her depression. He was off in Prague on the day she untied Ophelia, her horse, and rode to Alicante. She pounded so hard on the door of the Herondale house that her knuckles bled. Five minutes passed, and when the door swung open, Amatis was not the friend from Jocelyn’s childhood. Her blue eyes were as hard and cold as the frozen canal. Jocelyn almost tripped backwards down the stairs, thinking the other girl might hit her.

“You need to get out of here,” Amatis hissed.

“Amatis, listen - I don’t think Lucian can be dead. I need you to help me-”

“How dare you come here?” Her voice rose to a shriek. “How dare you ask me to help you? Do you not know what your husband has done?” 

Jocelyn froze. She considered that final question, weighed it in her mind. 

“No,” she said finally, truthfully. 

Amatis shot her a look of purest disgust and slammed the door in her face.

Jocelyn stopped at a shop on Princewater Street and bought three packets of blue delphinium seeds. At the counter, she stared at the rune-shaped wind chimes blowing gently in the breeze so she wouldn’t have to see the shopkeeper ignoring her. She kept her head down in the street until she got to the stable, mounted Valentine’s horse, and rode home.

On her knees in the dirt, spreading delphinium seeds, it occurred to her that she should have visited her parents. Tried to speak to them. To correct any rumors that were flying through Alicante. But then, she thought miserably, to correct would be to lie. There was no guarantee that they would not have shut their door in her face like Amatis did.

Maybe they had removed their framed photographs. Turned them to face the wall so they could pretend they no longer had a daughter.

 

* * *

 

Ragnor Fell was Jocelyn’s last hope.

“There are those who would look very badly upon me for helping you.” 

She looked up at him despondently. The flagstone steps of his cottage seemed to ache beneath her tired feet. She could not bear to have another door slammed in her face.

“But you’ve known my family for years! You’ve known me since I was a little girl!” 

“That was when you were Jocelyn Fairchild. Now you are Jocelyn Morgenstern.” His eyes flashed. “Valentine’s wife.”

“Valentine only slays those who break the Accords,” she protested, but her voice sounded shaky even to her own ears. 

“That is not true, and he does worse things than kill,” Ragnor said. “If I do this for you, if I look for Lucian Graymark, you must do something for me.”

Her heart kicked into a frenetic rhythm. “Anything! I’ll do anything.”

“One night, you must follow your husband and see where he goes.”

 

* * *

 

_What has he done to me?_

Jocelyn stood in the middle of her bedroom, shaking, hands folded protectively over her stomach. As a child, she had never trembled. She had never cried in fear, screamed in terror, or lost sleep over nightmares. She had carried on. She had been strong. 

Back then, she had thought she could feel the angel’s blood thrumming through her veins like liquid gold. It meant she was special, chosen, elite. It meant she was alive. But _this_ , this hell she was living in - she held out one pale arm in front of her, staring at the blue lines that stood out like rivers on a map, expecting to see them turn to black before her eyes. Her blood was contaminated. Demonic. Not just hers, but their _child’s_ —

She choked on a sob, running to the closet and pulling out her old leather school bag. What did she need? Clothes for a few days, food… it would be so risky riding a horse at this point in her pregnancy, she thought frantically, folding two shirts with shaking hands and shoving them deep inside the bag. It could hurt the baby… but the Angel only knew what had already become of the baby. She had to try. She could go to Alicante, seek refuge at her parents’ house… 

Satisfied with her clothing selection, she darted to the dresser and yanked the top drawer open, feeling around blindly in the dark for the silver necklace Lucian had given to her for Christmas when they were sixteen. She couldn’t bear to look at it or wear it, but she could never leave it behind, here, with _him_. She shoved it into the bag and turned — 

“Jocelyn.”

She screamed, dropping the bag, backing away. Valentine stood in the doorway, a black silhouette outlined in witchlight. His eyes seemed to glow like embers as they scanned over the bag, its contents spilling out across the floor. 

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I found your door in the bookcase,” she said, her back flat against the wall. “And I found what was under it. Your butcher’s theater.”

“Those things down there are monsters—”

“And what am I, Valentine?” she shouted. “Am I a monster? What have you _done_ to me? What have you done to our baby?” 

“Nothing that will harm him,” Valentine said calmly. “I assure you he’s quite healthy.”

Jocelyn stared at him, eyes blazing in fury, her chest heaving. His voice was so calm.

“I have been working on experiments, Jocelyn - experiments that have pushed the boundaries of magic and power far beyond what other Shadowhunters have dreamed. I have learned so much – so much that I cannot wait to share with you!” He stepped forward, light on his feet. His eyes were wide, excited, searching her face for traces of that same excitement. “This is what we’ve always hoped for, Jocelyn. Knowledge beyond compare! From my experiments, I’ve been able to identify the ways to most efficiently destroy Downworlders. Not just one werewolf here, one faerie there, but packs of them at once.” 

Jocelyn’s hands trembled as she brought them unconsciously to rest on her stomach. 

“But the most amazing thing I’ve seen, darling…” He moved forward so quickly that she slammed her head into the wall, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible. “I tried injecting the creatures with demon blood, wondering if perhaps it would kill them faster. But it didn’t. It didn’t kill them at _all_ … it made them stronger! It made them so much more difficult to destroy! If it has that effect on half-men, think what it could do for Shadowhunters!”

“But those creatures are already part demon. We’re not! How could you think of experimenting on your own child?”

“I experimented on myself first.” He pulled up his shirt sleeve, baring his pale forearm. It was traced with black inky Marks, some fresher than others - this was all normal. The tie-dye pattern of bluish and yellow bruises was not.

“You injected demon blood into your veins?” Jocelyn said weakly.

“It’s made me stronger, faster!” He said, yanking his shirt sleeve back down. “But I’m a grown man - think what it will do for an infant! The warrior who might develop from that-”

“You’re insane,” Jocelyn spat. “All this time I thought I was keeping you human, but you’re not human. You’re a monster… worse than any of those pathetic things down in the cellar.” 

It was as though she had slapped him. He drew back, hurt etched across his pure white face. Sensing an opportunity, Jocelyn flung herself to the right, heading for the door - he came back to himself too quickly, catching at her arm. She was knocked off balance, falling to the ground hard - her head cracked against the floorboards and for a moment everything was black.

“Jocelyn?” His voice was high, hysterical.

_Oh, God_ , she thought deliriously, _save me - something’s wrong, something is so wrong_ … her clothes felt wet, heavy - she reached out a hand, gripping at her skirt, and pulled it away, sticky with blood. For the second time that night, she screamed, but it was a scream that seemed to go on and on, to rip the stars straight from the sky, leaving only night…

 

* * *

 

Jonathan was not the name she would have chosen. But then, she admitted to herself in the darkest corner of her mind, Jonathan was not the child she would have chosen, either.

She could not look at him, would not hold him.

“You just need to become better acquainted,” Adele told her one afternoon, standing by the bed where Jocelyn lay.

Her mother had taken to her grandson wonderfully. She was spending every weekend at the manor house, cradling Jonathan, feeding him from a bottle, walking him around the house. Grandmotherhood had brought out a whole new side of her. She even sat at the foot of Jocelyn’s bed, rocking Jonathan gently in her arms and telling her daughter stories, inane gossip from Alicante, anything she could think of in an attempt to draw out a smile.

It was a type of love she had rarely seen from her mother. She wished she could appreciate it.

When her mother left, having talked herself into oblivion, Jocelyn could lie in bed and stare out at the sky, heavy and gray as December rolled in. She thought occasionally about moving back to her childhood bedroom, but could never bring herself to do it. The memories would not be a comfort. Ever since Lucian’s death, the door had remained firmly closed. Sometimes, late at night, she pictured the _adamas_ ceiling glowing alone, protecting no one.

Elisabeth would have found a way to get her through this. But she was not here, and that could not be helped. No one would be there for her now: not Amatis, not Lucian, not Madeleine, not any of her friends from the Circle. She could not bring herself to confide in her parents the gravity of the situation. So she lay there in silence, staring at nothing, dreading the time when Valentine would return to her.

The love she felt for her husband was like a small earthquake, she sometimes thought. It shook her deeply. She saw him two different ways. There was the angel from the Academy, with his stunning blond hair and kind smile that made her feel as though she were the only person he loved in all the world. This was the man who spoke to her reverently. He revolved around her. She was the first person he wanted to speak to in the morning, the final kiss goodnight. 

But then there was the cruel tormenter she had loathed. The icy indifference. The way he had turned from Bianca’s body, his only apparent emotion a faint annoyance at losing a loyal soldier. He knew she didn’t like this side of him. He hid it carefully. But if her love for him was an earthquake, these were the fault lines.

He knew how to smooth it over. Always had.

“I trust you, Jocelyn,” he said - the magic words that melted her, warmed her from the inside out. “I need you. You’re the only one who understands. The others, they try, but… but you _know_.”

Every vulnerability spilled from his lips: how he missed his father, how he wanted so badly to win respect. She nodded along and empathized and basked in the praise at being his only one, his soulmate, his dream. 

She thought back to when she was seven with a crush on Michael Wayland. She had made every decision with him in mind, from the color of her hair ribbon to the way she laced her boots. “I need to impress him,” she had told Lucian, and he’d just looked at her. 

“ _You_?” he’d asked, frowning. She hadn’t understood what he’d meant back then.

To have someone whom you impressed without even trying - that had been a gift handed to her in glittery paper, tied up with a shining bow. She’d tossed it aside without a second glance. And now, alone in the manor house that echoed in a way she didn’t recall from childhood, with dust gathering in corners she could no longer be bothered to sweep, she considered: _maybe, maybe, if I could go back…_

It was useless. She rolled over, arm stretching out across cool sheets. Somewhere in the depths of the manor, glass shattered. Jocelyn had long ago stopped worrying about her husband, learned to block out her fear of the terrible secrets held deep within the house. Her eyelids, heavy, sank lower and lower until darkness was all she could see.

 

* * *

The message arrived the following morning. 

Jocelyn was still not used to seeing her first name juxtaposed with this new last name - the swirling M, the looping G, the abrupt N. It did not suit her, she thought. She read the message four times before understanding.

_Urgent_ , it said - there was no greeting. _Meet at my cottage at earliest convenience. RF._

 

* * *

 

As warlocks went, Ragnor Fell was on the more serious side. He had known Jocelyn and even Lucian as children, mending their injuries and solemnly cautioning them to obey their parents. When she was young, she’d made fun of him behind his back, giggling about his green skin and small white horns protruding through his hair; his strange warlock marks contrasted so sharply with his deadpan personality.

But as she rode up to his cottage and saw him standing stock still at the gate, nothing had ever seemed less funny in her life.

He waited until she was in earshot before saying calmly, “Lucian Graymark is alive.” 

“ _What?!”_ The word tore out of Jocelyn’s throat like a sob. She clutched at her horse’s mane, stumbling as she dismounted. “Where is he? Is he all right? Does he know how to find me?”

Ragnor regarded her coldly, holding up a hand. “And what of what you know, Jocelyn Morgenstern? Did you do as I asked you and follow your husband one night?”

“Yes.” Jocelyn swallowed hard. “He has been using a room beneath the manor house… my father’s wine cellar. I don’t think he’s aware that I know how to get in, but I heard noises one night so I grabbed the key from my father’s hiding place in the study.” 

“And what did you find?” Ragnor’s voice was gentler now. He stepped back, pulling open the gate to allow Jocelyn entrance. 

“It was so horrible… worse than I could have ever dreamed. Downworlders… like science experiments, tortured, mutilated. It was disgusting. They - they were _half-alive_ , Ragnor. He had the bodies of vampires partially submerged in holy water - the skin was peeling from their bones. And werewolves, too… dissolving in powdered silver. Faeries murdered with cold iron. I think he was recording how long it took each of them to die.” She took a steadying breath. “And he’s been keeping demon blood… to experiment on himself, he said. But then, I found a book. Like a diary. It had my name on the first page, so I read it…” 

She trailed off, staring vacantly at the brown leaves scattered beneath her feet.

“Jocelyn? Why was your name on the page?”

Jocelyn bit her lip and reached into her coat pocket, removing a crumpled piece of paper. She unfolded it carefully. 

“This was all I could bring,” she said. “I couldn’t take the whole book… I was worried he would become suspicious. I tore this out from the beginning.”

“Read it to me.”

She cleared her throat and began to read in a clear voice.

“ _Jocelyn drank the mixture again tonight. No visible changes in her, but again, it is the child which concerns me. With regular infusions of demonic ichor such as I have been giving her, the child may be capable of any feats. He will become greater than all Nephilim, greater than human, free to walk the realms of both light and dark._

_“Last night I heard the child’s heart beat, more strongly than any human heart, the sound like a mighty bell tolling the beginning of a new generation of Shadowhunters, the blood of angels and demons mixed to produce powers beyond any previously imagined possible. No longer will the power of Downworlders be the greatest on this earth_.”

In a swift mechanical motion, she crumpled the paper in her fist. She held her hand out to a stricken Ragnor, who paused and then took it.

“Does your husband know you have read this?”

She had a flashing memory of Valentine’s dark silhouette in the doorway of their shared bedroom as he watched her frantically throwing her possessions into a suitcase. 

“Yes,” she said.

“Has he --”

“I can’t stay with him, Ragnor,” she blurted out, raising her head to look him dead in the eye. “Not for another day. Do you know what he did to Jonathan? I didn’t think even Valentine could do that. He used demon blood - Jonathan’s not a baby anymore. He isn’t even human; he’s a monster…”

Ragnor nodded curtly, indicating that she could stop. His face was impossible to read. 

“I have heard these things about your husband, but even so, it is a different thing entirely to hear about them from you. I am very sorry you have had to bear this burden alone, Jocelyn.”

“And now tell me about Lucian,” she said. “Is he safe? Is he all right?”

“He’s alive, and the leader of a wolf pack at the eastern edge of Brocelynde. Tracked down the pack leader and killed him - the very same wolf who had bitten him, as I understand it. An act of vengeance, perhaps." 

But Jocelyn was shaking her head defiantly. “That’s not Lucian. He doesn’t get revenge like that.” 

“While Lucian Graymark is alive, I have a feeling that the Lucian you knew is dead and gone.”

Jocelyn bit her lip. “If what you say is true, and he did kill the pack leader, that means that he is…” 

“Yes,” Ragnor said quietly. “The tale is all over Downworld. The pack leader who used to be a Shadowhunter.”

This thought was so foreign to her idea of Lucian that she physically ached. To think that he was out there in the forest somewhere, leading a werewolf pack --

“I have to see him.”

Ragnor shook his head. “No. I’ve done enough for you, Jocelyn. You say you hate Valentine, but still you do nothing. I’ll help you - I’ll bring you to Lucian - but only if you’re willing to commit to the cause of destroying Valentine and the Circle. Otherwise, I suggest you get on your horse and ride home.”

“We _can’t_ defeat Valentine,” Jocelyn said. “The Circle is too strong.” 

“Valentine’s weakness is his arrogance, and you are our best weapon because of it. You are as close to Valentine as anyone could be. You can infiltrate the Circle, gather information, find out his soft spots and weaknesses. Learn their plans. You can be the perfect spy.” 

She took a deep breath. He was right, and she knew it.

“I’ll do it,” she said, and she held out her hand to Ragnor. 

He regarded her carefully for a moment. Instead of shaking her hand, he reached inside his coat, withdrew a weathered map, and placed it in her palm.

 

* * *

 

Ragnor had advised Jocelyn to wait several days before seeking out Lucian. “It would not be wise to arise Valentine’s suspicions,” he said, and Jocelyn nodded along, thanking the warlock for his help and mounting her horse. As she galloped off, she allowed herself to smile for the first time in months. It had been a nice pretense. They both knew she was not returning to Fairchild Manor tonight.

It was a brisk ride; by the time she approached the forest, she was shivering in her velvet cloak. The air smelled like snow. 

“All right, be quiet,” she muttered to Ophelia, tugging gently on the reins and bringing her to a trot. “I doubt they’ll be glad to see us in here.” 

_I’m losing my mind_ , she thought. _Talking to a damn horse. I need to get out more._

The outskirts of the forest looked foggy, the air heavy and damp. It must have rained recently; although it was early December, it hadn’t quite gotten cold enough for anything else. Orange and brown leaves littered the muddy ground, crinkling beneath Ophelia’s hooves as they progressed slowly into the forest. The trees were different from the ones that had separated Fairchild Manor from Lucian’s house; they had been impossibly tall and stately, almost regal. These were snarled and gray, branches reaching out across the jagged path. She felt as if she might be knocked from the horse’s back at any moment.

She twisted the reins through her sweaty hands.

_Lucian has been dead for seven months_ , she chanted inside her head. _Seven months. Valentine told me. He gave Lucian the knife: the silver one with gemstones in the handle. It’s done. He’s gone. Valentine has done horrible things, but he would not lie about something as important as this._

Five minutes into the forest, it had become too dark to read the map, even though she was holding it right in front of her face. She adjusted herself in the saddle, pulling a witchlight stone out of her coat pocket and holding it up to the paper. Then she flicked the stone so it cast light on her right wrist, where she’d scrawled a compass rune earlier that day. 

“East for a mile, then north,” she muttered, stashing the witchlight back in her pocket. “We’re almost there.”

Ophelia shook out her mane. Jocelyn hoped that the horse could see better in the dark than she could. Werewolves had great reflexes, and she was riding straight into the encampment. 

Minutes passed in silence. Then, suddenly, the world seemed to open up - she had arrived in a small clearing, just as Ragnor had described. The wide circle had a floor of patted down dirt as though it were walked upon frequently. Of course it was, she realized - here were the tents. Brown as mulch, pitched every few feet or so. The bare trees were fewer here, stretching higher to reach a dim gray sky. It was close to twilight. She could imagine the fading gold sunlight flecked with pinks and purples… the skies of her childhood. 

Something rustled to her left and she spun around. Nothing. By the time she turned back to face forward, she was surrounded.

She had never seen a werewolf pack this large before. Slowly, like ghosts, they emerged from the shadows… some were shockingly young, skinny and tripping over too-long jeans. Most were in their twenties and early thirties. All of them were studying her carefully through narrowed eyes. She had no time to worry if they recognized her. Without a word, she leapt down from her horse.

“Nephilim are not welcome here,” a young man said, arms folded across his chest. He tucked several of the children behind him as though he feared Jocelyn would run at them with a seraph blade. She drew herself up to her full height.

“I must see your pack leader.” Her voice rang out clearly, in the same authoritative tone she had learned from Valentine. “He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet he is,” the man chuckled, looking around at the group. Many of them laughed, taking steps closer.

Jocelyn scanned the group frantically. He wasn’t here, of course he wasn’t - she touched her weapons belt through her coat, preparing herself to pull out one of the daggers she’d stashed there -

“Jocelyn?!”

Her head snapped up. The crowd parted - dimly, she was aware of whispers, hissing like rain on hot coals. She stumbled forward, desperate to reach the source of the voice.

One of the tent flaps had opened - someone was getting out, someone obscured in shadow - she couldn’t make out a face -

“Jocelyn!” 

The shadow was running at her now, full-force as though it was about to attack her. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think - someone screamed, high and shrill - it was _her_ , she realized a beat later, and the shriek was a name, ripped from her throat as though by force, and it didn’t stop.

“ _Lucian!”_

The figure came to a stop several feet away. Jocelyn couldn’t move - she was rooted to the spot. Her shoulders were shaking. The shadow had stepped into a pool of light, silver, filtered down through the trees, illuminating his face.

He stood there, he smiled, he glowed like starlight born into human form. In all this time, she had never forgotten the exact color of his eyes: the bluest blue delphinium.


End file.
